


dead souls

by atrocityexhibitions



Series: Vs. The End Of The World: An Ich Will AU [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: 6 man crime spree, AU: Ich Will, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Relationships, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Organized Crime, Panic Attacks, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, References to Addiction, Sexual Content, Survival, Vomiting, au: zombies, everybody loves flake, not all zombies all the time, past/implied till/richard, ride or die bitches, six man marriage lol, there's a lot of talking sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrocityexhibitions/pseuds/atrocityexhibitions
Summary: Six lunatic criminals Vs. a world full of flesh-eating monsters - if It was anyone else, you wouldn't like their odds. AU based on the band's characters in the Ich Will video. A bank job goes wrong before it even starts and the crew realise there's far bigger threats than getting caught. [Tags/pairings not final - updating them as the story progresses]
Relationships: Oliver Riedel/Christoph Schneider, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: Vs. The End Of The World: An Ich Will AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651804
Comments: 37
Kudos: 87





	1. Job, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I haven't written anything in a long ass time but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here it is. I'll update pairings and tags as I go because honestly who the hell knows where this crazy train is headed. Assume everyone is speaking to each other in German - if I'd attempted to write it in German it would be about three lines long, so I decided against it. Set in the present rather than the video era, but there's a reason for that in future chapters. Also AU where Flake didn't blow himself up. Anyway, enjoy! Or don't. I'm not the boss of you.

The back of the van was dead silent, the front on the other hand was filled with the sound of drumming on a steering wheel, along to an unheard track playing on the driver's earphones. 

“Ach, can you _stop_?” Richard asked from behind his mask – blacked out goggles and a bandana wrapped around his nose and mouth, a printed skull sitting over his facial features because if they were going to continue with this whole mask thing, he was sure he was going to have the coolest one. The driver ignored him, although whether he couldn't hear or whether he was just refusing to acknowledge him was questionable. “Schneider.” 

Nothing. 

“Schneider!” 

Richard's eyes narrowed, pretty sure he was just being wilfully ignorant by that point. He aimed a light slap at the back of Schneider's head, who then finally yanked out his earphones and glared briefly over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, keep that up if you want me to crash before we even get to the bank.” He grumbled, “What do you want?” 

“Stop drumming.” Richard ordered. “ _Bitte._ ” he added with an edge of snark. 

“Can't. It's an anxious thing.” He shrugged, and he wasn't lying. Every time they had a job, he'd be foot tapping and drumming on the nearest available surface until they'd got the damn thing over with. If he stopped doing it he might actually stop and question what the fuck he was doing with his life, and that just wouldn't do – especially not right then. Leaping out of the van and running just wasn't the done thing when you were about to rob a bank and he was nothing if not polite. 

“Still nervous? Even now?” Till leaned forwards and asked with a chuckle. His mask was quite possibly the most hideous thing anyone had seen, procured from a small dingy joke shop in the seedy end of town, a place he knew like the back of his hand, of course. He'd paid the owner a couple of hundred to erase the day's CCTV tapes, which he gladly took although Flake had raised the very valid point that the place was so rotten that the cameras were probably dummies, anyway. Even so, Till insisted that you could never be too careful. The mask itself looked like a Chinese knock-off of Leatherface, holes bigger than they should be and in all the wrong places, pierced through fleshy rubber that looked like sex doll off-cuts. Till had tried to fix it with clumsy black stitches – despite Paul's insistence that he'd do a better job – and only managed to make it look even more horrific than before. The whole group tried to get him to just get another one but by that point, he'd grown attached and he wasn't going to give it up. Making do with what he had, he just blacked out any visible skin with greasepaint and as far as he was concerned, it was the perfect disguise. 

“Well we can't all be you, _Fearless Leader._.” Schneider glanced up at the rear view mirror and shot him a look, eyebrows raised before snorting slightly at the quartet of monstrous visages sat behind him. 

“I'm not fearless, I'm just better at controlling it. Hence why I _am_ the leader.” He jokingly boasted. He checked his watch and frowned, immediately returning to business mode. “We're running behind schedule. We need to get there just before the delivery so we can take out the driver.”

“Yeah, I'm trying.” Schneider said, sounding mildly harassed. “I don't know what's going on but the traffic is absolutely insane.” He leaned up in his seat, peering over the vehicles in front, a long trail of cars that were barely moving a few inches at a time. “Maybe there was an accident or something.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket and placing it on his lap he surreptitiously checked a routefinder for a way to cut through and when they had moved forward a few more times he saw his chance, carefully rolling the van down a side street in order to avoid any kind of scrutiny. “I'm going the back way.” 

“And not for the first time!” Paul unexpectedly piped up, earning himself a cackle from Richard. It was even funnier when it was coming from a dead-eyed horse mask he'd procured from some deep dark corner of the internet. 

“Yeah, you're fucking hilarious.” Schneider rolled his eyes, deadpanning. “Crime's gain is stand-up comedy's loss.” 

He was about to get a reply when the brakes screeched and the vehicle jerked to a halt, sending everyone in the back jolting forwards. 

“What in the _fuck_?” Richard asked, rubbing the spot where his head had collided with the seat in front of him. “Schneider?!” 

“I think you'd better have a look at this, Till.” Schneider replied, completely ignoring Richard. 

“What?” He asked, getting up from his seat and hobbling slightly to the front of the van where he crouched behind the seat. Through the window he could see a figure standing directly in front of them. Head down, the man seemed to sway slightly and showed no signs of wanting to move. “Eh. Just a drunk.” He shrugged, “Beep at him or something. We don't have time for this.” 

As he was told, Schnieder hit the horn and incredibly, this asshole didn't so much as flinch. Annoyed, he smacked it again and got no response. Another masked face appeared over the seat. 

“If he refuses to move, you can legally run him over.” Richard advised. 

“That's not even remotely true.” Olli smirked, curiosity piqued enough along with Paul to get up and observe the scene outside. 

“I'm fucking moving him.” Schneider grumbled, climbing out of the van and stalking towards the drunk with all the purpose of a man who was done with his shit. “Move your fucking arse!” He ordered, shoving at the man's shoulders. Unfortunately, rather than take him off balance enough to get him out of the way, he barely shifted an inch. 

“What the-” Paul said, a note of awe in his voice. He'd seen Schneider floor someone twice his size before so the fact that this guy didn't so much as blink was unusual to the say the least. Before he had chance to finish his thought, the figure had finally moved, lunging towards Schneider quicker than he had chance to react. “ _Shit_.” He hissed, and everyone except Till headed for the door and charged towards Schneider who at that point was against the wall, holding the man's wrist as it tried to claw at his face, snapping his teeth much too hard with a loud, sickening _clack_ just inches away from his neck. 

The butt of a shotgun to the side of his head was finally enough to send the man sprawling to the floor, letting out a hideous, gutteral groan. 

“Stay the fuck down.” Olli ordered, from behind a carefully selected military grade face protector – cementing his place as the most sensible and/or sane of the group – and aimed at his head. “Fucking drunk.” 

“Not drunk. S'not fucking drunk.” Schneider shook his head vigorously, mohawk wobbling as he did so. 

“Then what is it?” Richard asked, pistol in one hand and the other hanging gloved and limply by his side. 

“Eyes. Look at the _fucking eyes_.” 

Curious, Olli stepped forward and used the shotgun barrel to nudge the man's head upwards. What looked back at them earned a chorus of ' _Woah_ 's and caused everyone to take a step backwards. The groaning had increased in volume to a scream, the kind of noise you might mistake for a wild animal if you couldn't see the reality in front of you. Eyes cloudy and sunk, skin a shade too pale to be alive and jaw slack, the _whatever-it-was_ lurched forwards on it's hands and knees, limbs twisting unnaturally and the lower half of it's face bloody and sprayed with a matter that they wouldn't have recognised if not for the amount of carnage they'd caused themselves over the years. 

“Yeah.” Paul's said, horse mask tilting slightly. “That's not normal. We should probably go.” 

Richard laughed at his delivery despite himself and nodded in agreement, turning back towards the van.

“Shouldn't we do something about that?” Olli asked, gesturing with his gun. 

“It did try to bite me.” Schneider noted. 

“Exactly.” Olli agreed and without another word, reached into his jacket and retrieved a silenced pistol, firing two rounds off directly into the creature's skull. “Come on.” He tugged at Schneider's sleeve briefly and followed the others towards the van. 

“See, I knew chivalry wasn't dead..” Schneider called after him as he climbed back into the drivers seat. Olli smirked to himself. 

Just as everyone had returned to their original positions, Till's phone vibrated in his pocket. Frowning at the screen, he answered. 

“Flake?” 

_“Call it off. You need to get out of the city while you still can.”_ He replied, more of an order than a request.

“Why? What's going on?” Till asked, pretty sure this was connected to the bizarre incident that had just gone down. Five _million_ , Flake. We can't just abandon it.” 

_“Well if we're really unlucky, that five million will only be good for arse-wipe pretty soon. Check the news. If you want to end up dead, don't listen to me.”_ He said flatly before hanging up. 

“Flake. _Flake?!_ ” Till shouted at his phone before shaking his head, muttering. “That fucking guy.” 

“What's going on?” Paul asked. 

“I don't know, yet.” He frowned, large thumbs frustratedly jabbing at the screen of his phone in search of a news report. Finally finding a video, he hit play. 

_Breaking News coming from Berlin, we have received video footage from a viewer which appears to show widespread rioting and looting throughout the city. What started as isolated pockets of unrest appears to be spreading. Authorities are currently remaining tight lipped, but we can exclusively reveal from a source inside the government that the sudden violence could be attributed to a reaction to some kind of nerve agent or contagion and this footage may well confirm it. Please be advised that what you are about to see may be disturbing for some viewers.”_

By that point, everyone except Schneider was crowded around the cracked screen of Till's phone, masks off. The screen lit up with shaky smartphone footage of what sounded like a woman trying to run through a crowd of people, faces flashed by and whilst some were a picture of pure terror, every so often there would be one that mirrored that of the alley drunk. The woman continued to run the gauntlet, panicked breaths distorting the sound around her until a bloody hand reached out and grabbed her arm. The phone spiralled out of her grip and landed lens down on the floor, leaving only a flashing 'Live' symbol in the top right corner of the screen, but the terrified scream's of it's owner could be heard loud and disturbingly clear. Everyone sat back in silence, clearly rattled by what they'd just seen. 

“Think you can find a way out of here without getting trapped?” Till looked over at Schneider, who had been bothered plenty just by the sound of the news report the others had just watched. A few moments passed as he returned his attention back to the routefinder. 

“Think so.” He nodded before wordlessly firing up the van and steering it through the maze of alleys surrounding them which, if he was right, would get them back on a route towards home. 

“But-” Richard started, receiving three looks in response that said _here we fucking go_. He took a long drag on a cigarette, mask now pulled down around his neck and goggles sat on top of his head, eyes blackened with greasepaint. “I'm just saying, wouldn't now be a good time to hit it? Everyone's going to be distracted with-” He gestured at Till's phone. “All _that_.” 

“That money's no good to any of us if we're dead.” Paul shrugged. “I don't think it's a good idea.” 

“Seconded.” Olli agreed. 

“Third... Thirded?” Schneider frowned, before repeating more firmly. “Thirded.” 

“I think we could handle it, that's all!” Richard raised his arms. “It's not like we're not armed to the teeth.” 

“And if this situation takes a certain path, we may need those later, rather than wasting them on a fool's errand now.” Till finally spoke up, given that he was the one that made the ultimate decision, anyway. “It's off.” 

“ _But-_.” 

“ _Off._ ” Till said simply, and though his voice was quiet it held all the menace of a threat. Instantly recognising the tone, Richard sighed and sank back into his seat silently. Returning his attention back to his phone, Till was the last to remove his mask, placing it next to him as he tapped out a message. 

_We've decided to take your advice. Heading home._

_A wise choice._ Came the reply.


	2. At Least It's Not The End Of The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang make it back to base (and Flake!) and try to figure out what the hell to do next. Chapter may contain: People having inappropriate reactions to the apocalypse and Richard being a little shit.

By the time the van had pulled up back at the base it had gone dark and what would normally have taken an hour at best took nearly three, taking back routes and side streets to avoid the rapidly growing amount of cars heading out of the city as word of the situation had spread. It seemed that they'd probably gotten out just at the right time, which they wouldn't have if they'd have gone along with Richard's plan to rob the bank anyway. According to the increasingly dire news reports, every main road was more or less at a standstill and the alternative routes were becoming just as bad. Eventually, Till just stopped checking the news.

“Home” itself was a relatively unassuming place from the outside, a modernist structure surrounded by a ten foot wall around the perimiter, set back in an isolated part of a particularly well-to-do area outside of the city. It was comfortable, but far enough away from other houses that they drew little attention from their neighbours, a cluster of politicians, actors and the like. Till sometimes wondered what they'd think if they knew they had such a prolific collective of criminals living amongst them, but then he supposed they were all corrupted in their own way. Not many people got to live in such luxury without damage to somebody else. In the beginning, they had contemplated raiding one or two of the properties but in the end decided not to draw that kind of attention and it made no sense to fuck up what was, all told, a pretty luxurious setup compared to the warehouse they'd been occupying before.

Flake and Till had bought the place as a kind of base of operations, they wouldn't be in the right line of work if it didn't come with plenty of financial benefits of course, but the others – who had initially insisted they were _just crashing_ \- came and then just sort of... didn't leave. Not permanently, anyway. A few had left under the pretence of 'getting out of the game' or 'going straight' but it never seemed to last and they'd return, enthusiastically enquiring about the next job like they'd never been away. Olli was the one who'd managed it the longest, met a nice girl and attempted to maintain some kind of normalcy. He did it, at least for a little while. Relationships had come and gone over the years but it seemed that not one of them could ever really escape each other for long. They were a strange little family at that point, one that was capable of unspeakable violence and chaos, but a family nonetheless.

Reaching out of the window, Schneider pressed the button on the intercom next to the gate repeatedly, knowing full well that it would be irritating Flake, who he accurately predicted would be having to run across from the other side of the house to let them in.

“ _What?_ ” A breathless, annoyed voice crackled through the tinny speaker.

“We're baa-aaack.“ Schneider sing-songed flatly. “Open up.”

“ _So you're not dead, then?_ ” Flake replied “ _Hm._ ”

With that, the gate opened and Schneider pulled in, rolling the grotty looking vehicle down into the large garage that sloped down underneath the house. Flake had arrived to greet them, clutching a bag of popcorn like he'd just been watching the latest blockbuster, rather than the beginnings of the fall of civilisation.

“End of the world, boys!” He raised an arm victoriously as the others climbed out of the van, clearly tired and mildly pissed off at having been cramped up in there for so long.

“Pretty sure you're not supposed to sound so happy about that, Flake.” Paul noted with a smirk, pulling his bag out of the rear of the van and greeting him with a one-armed hug.

“No, probably not.” He agreed thoughtfully, throwing a kernel into his mouth before adding with a manic grin. “But it is interesting, and I _like_ interesting.” He turned back to head into the main part of the house, everyone else not far behind. “Plus, I've been ready for this.”

“What are you talking about?” Paul frowned.

“He's trying to use this to justify the fact that he's a hoarder.” Richard smirked, on about his thirtieth cigarette of the day.

“I don't hoard, I _stockpile_.” Flake insisted, adding grimly and glancing over his shoulder. “You'll see.”

“I think you're getting ahead of yourself, man.” Olli shrugged, “It'll probably blow over in a few days.”

“That's what I thought too – but now I'm not so sure.” Flake said, leading a trail into the living room, Till pealing away towards the kitchen, Olli and Schneider deciding to join him considering nobody had eaten for hours. Flake climbed over the back of the couch and flopped down where he'd been sitting before he'd been disturbed. “Nothing but news on TV, now.” He informed Paul and Richard, who'd dropped down either side of him despite the fact that there were plenty more places they could sit that were much further out of his personal space.

“Is it happening anywhere else?” Paul asked, dipping into the popcorn bag without asking and taking a handful.

“No idea.” Flake shrugged, shooting a dagger of a look in Paul's direction, giving Richard ample time to grab his own handful before he had a chance to protest. “It's weird, they're not talking about anywhere else. It's like they're not getting any news from anywhere else. Like I said, _interesting_.” He frowned. “The news on my phone from everywhere else is just.. standard boring celebrity shit nobody cares about so maybe it is just here but I'm not so sure. Something doesn't quite feel right, you know?”

“It's definitely more than just riots.” Richard said through a mouthful of popcorn, attempting to both hold that and keep a cigarette between his fingers. “Did Till tell you about the drunk guy? Well, he wasn't drunk. We _thought_ he was drunk but he was all... _blargh_.” He held his arms out and rolled his eyes back in his head, mouth lolling open.

“He was _what_ , now?” Paul laughed, amused by the idiotic but strangely accurate interpretation of what they'd seen.

“ _Blargh_.” He repeated the move and got another giggle in response.

“He really did look like that, too.” Paul nodded. “It's got to be some kind of... disease or something. People just don't end up like that because they got caught up in a bit of looting.”

“Yes, he told me. How close to it did you get?” Flake asked, turning his head and eyeing the pair of them suspiciously. “If it is a contagion there's no word on how it spreads.”

“Not that close.” Richard assured him. “I wasn't going near that fucking thing. It did try and eat Schneider, though.”

“ _What_!?”

“It's fine, he didn't.” Richard shrugged, dusting his good hand off on his jeans and placing his cigarette between his lips so he could re-light it.

“Yes, obviously I can _see_ that, Rich.” Flake rolled his eyes. “It just concerns me that he may have gotten too close. I'll have to keep an eye on him.”

“I think Olli's already doing that.” Paul quipped. “Nothing to do with catching the _blargh_ , but I'm sure he'll spot it before anyone else if he does have it.”

“Spot what?” Olli asked, appearing behind the sofa with a coffee and moving to sit on another couch, impossibly long legs loping over the arm.

“Nothing.” Richard chuckled and shook his head. “Did you make me one?” He asked, gesturing at the cup he had in his hand.

“Make your fucking own. Lazy bastard.” Olli smirked, taking a satisfied looking sip of his drink.

“Well, that's just rude.” He muttered, swinging a cushion in Paul's direction, narrowly avoiding batting the bag of popcorn out of Flake's hands. “Paul. Make me a coffee.”

“You know only one of your hands doesn't work, right?” Paul teased, the two of them far beyond politely avoiding mocking each other's respective afflictions. “The other one works perfectly well and knows how to fill up a fucking coffee machine.”

“Fine.” Richard groaned, stubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and getting to his feet. “I'm going to make a coffee. You're all terrible people.”

“We know.” Olli nodded, gaze fixed to the TV.

Groaning, Paul got up with a creak of his knees and slapped Richard on the shoulder.

“Come on, I'll help. I need something to eat before I puke, anyway.” He grumbled, but knew that if he stayed on that couch for much longer he wouldn't be able to move.

The _clank_ of Till's cane against the hallway tiles could be heard far sooner than the man himself could be seen and when he finally appeared, he greeted the exiting men with a terse nod and took up the seat that Richard had just left, placing his hastily prepared sandwich on the coffee table and giving Flake a friendly nudge with his elbow.

“Are we any clearer about what the fuck is going on out there?” He asked, picking up the remote and narrowing his eyes at it until he found the button to turn on the subtitles, just in case of any vital information. The news networks just repeated themselves incessantly to justify keeping themselves on the air, anyway. He was only interested in anything that might pertain to their group, so they could prepare – anything outside of the walls could go to hell, as far as he was concerned. The decline had been coming for years, anyone could see that and now it appeared to be here, all he could think was _It's about fucking time_.

“Well, what we are clear about is that it's a fucking shitshow.” Flake adjusted his glasses, the news that the military had been drafted in to 'quell the unrest' – which was likely a euphemism for opening fire and making excuses later – scrolling across the bottom of the screen. “Watch and wait. That's all I can suggest. This sort of thing isn't exactly my area of expertise. Or anyone's, for that matter.”

Till grunted unhappily, sensing they'd be having to stay put for a while. Trapped. It wasn't that he didn't like being there, he just didn't like the idea of being unable to leave. It made his skin itch. Still, he supposed at least it wasn't a prison cell. For someone who usually had control over most situations, the fact that this one was so far out of it made him deeply uncomfortable. Almost vulnerable – and he fucking _hated_ that. Human behaviour was almost laughably easy to predict in most situations but this one felt different, plus there was the added issue of the _things_ they'd already had limited experience with. Flake was absolutely correct – it _was_ a shitshow.

“So we're stuck here?” He asked, picking up his plate although the urge to eat was waning.

“Well. Technically you're not stuck anywhere, but I couldn't tell you what will happen to you once you're out there.” Flake shrugged, matter-of-fact as ever. “For now, we've got supplies, power, weapons... there's certainly worse places to be stuck in a situation like this.” He glanced out of the window. “Bit concerned about the wall, though. Might need an extra layer of something – you can bet there'll be some arseholes wanting to try their arm looting these places while the police are pre-occupied with the rest of the clusterfuck.” He thought for a moment. “I've got razor wire in the basement. That would do it.”

“Why have you got razor wire in the basement?” Olli looked over, perplexed.

“I've got a lot of things in the basement.” Flake replied cryptically.

“You're a very strange man, Flake.” He said, finishing his drink and putting it down on the floor with a _thunk_. Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms over his head and flexed the kink out of his neck. “I'm going to bed. Call me if anything fun happens.”

“Usual place, yeah?” Till asked, not looking over at him.

“Yup.” He replied quickly and made his exit.

The remaining pair sat in silence until Olli had gone upstairs and then they looked at each other with a bemused smirk.

“They don't _really_ think that we don't know, do they?” Flake asked, squinting slightly. “I mean, anyone with eyes can see what's going on there. Or one eye, in Schneider's case.”

“Of course not. Don't let him hear you say that – he'll fucking kill you!” Till laughed, only half joking and still working his way up to eating. “I think Schneider's just warned him not to acknowledge it on pain of death. He's got a reputation to uphold, after all.”

“Like any of us are fooled by that.” Flake smirked, although he had to admit that Schneider's ability to go from the quiet man he knew to a wild eyed, snarling psychopath when the need arose was really something to behold. His compartmentalising skills were far better than anyone else in the group, that was for sure.

“Ah, let him have it. You never know, they might be good for one another.”

“I don't think any of us have ever been good for one another.” Flake laughed.

“And yet, here we are.”

* * *

Olli tapped twice on Schneider's door and let himself in, finding the window open and Schneider perched on the ledge outside. It wasn't quite a balcony, but there was just enough room to seat two people. He frowned for a moment, always struggling with the best method to get all four of his limbs through the small gap. Finally opting for a leg-first approach, he eased himself through the window and joined Schneider. He pulled his hood up, the material tented by his mohawk which was apparently stacked with enough product that the material wasn't enough to flatten it. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled out a small, neatly rolled joint and put it between his lips.

“Any news?” Schneider asked, shuffling a bit closer.

“Nothing we haven't heard before.” He shook his head, struggling to get his lighter to fire in the cool wind outside. Schneider reached over, using his hands as a shield until Olli finally managed to light his joint. “Thanks.” He smiled, blowing a small stream of smoke upwards. “TV said something about the military coming in to calm everything down. Because nothing says de-escalation like tanks and automatic weapons, right?”

“Hm.” Schneider frowned. “I could have been one of them once, you know? I was in the military for a little bit. Long time ago, mind you.”

Olli raised his eyebrows. He felt like he knew the other man pretty well by that point but that wasn't something that had ever come up. The way he said it was almost sheepish, so that told him that there was maybe a reason for that.

“Bit of a leap. From the military to doing this kind of shit.” He said, taking a drag and passing it to Schneider. “How the hell did that happen?”

“It's not, really.” He shrugged, holding thick smoke in his throat for a few seconds before exhaling and continuing. “We're like a unit. Not as organised and certainly not as well funded, but still. Same thing at other ends of the spectrum. At least we're honest about what we're doing and why instead of trying to dress it in some kind of nobility.”

“That's why you left? The dishonesty?” Olli asked.

“Medical discharge.” He gestured towards his injured eye. “When I came out, I tried finding something I could do instead but as it turns out, once they've got what they want out of you they're not exactly queuing up to give you a helping hand.” His tone was bitter, but resigned. “Work was thin on the ground and a friend put me in touch with some guys who needed a driver that knew how to handle themselves. Started doing jobs here and there and then ran into Till. I liked the way he worked so I stuck around.”

“Yeah, funny how that happens.” Olli smirked. His own story wasn't all that different, though the tale of how he got to that point was. He'd worked in a bank for a while, ironically, but bank wages don't go that far to pay off catastrophic gambling debts. Robbing banks on the other hand, there was a _hell_ of a lot of money in that.

“I don't know, you got away for a while at least.” Schneider said, not looking at him and trying to keep a slightly jealous tone out of his voice, because he absolutely didn't miss Olli when he was gone. Not one bit. At least not that he'd admit to anyone else.

“Oh, yeah. That worked out really well, didn't it?” He laughed, flicking ash onto the floor of the ledge between them.

“Well, I'm glad you came back. Mostly.” He grinned, not unfolding his arms but leaning into Olli affectionately. He could really be quite sweet, when nobody was looking.

“Yeah. Me too.” Olli concured, leaning down and just about managing to press a kiss to the side of Schneider's head without getting jabbed in the eye by his hair.

The two sat in companionable silence for a long moment before it was abruptly broken by a voice from the garden below them.

_”Are you smoking weed up there?!”_

“Oh god.” Schneider groaned, curling up slightly against Olli's side. “Here he comes.”

“We're coming up, boys!” Paul shouted up, voice dripping with amusement.

“We know.” They chorused, Olli snorting slightly at the sound of two sets of footsteps running back into the house and thundering up the stairs.

“ _Booooooys!_ ” Richard bellowed as he barrelled into the room, bringing the scent of whiskey and cigarettes with him, fitting his entire torso through the window and draping his arms around both Schneider and Olli, plucking the joint from Olli's fingers and taking a long drag. “I didn't know we were having an end of the world party! When does the orgy start?” He smirked.

“You'd be fucking lucky.” Schneider grumbled, unable to bite back a grin. Reaching up, he took the joint back and before Richard bogarted the whole thing. “I'll get him to roll you a few if you fuck off.”

“But where's the fun in that, my darling Christoph?” Richard asked sweetly, planting an unnecessarily sloppy kiss on the side of his head. Schneider grunted and rubbed at it with a grimace.

“Did you actually eat anything or did you just throw a bunch of booze and caffeine down your neck?” Olli asked. That was the worst combination as far as Richard was concerned. Well, except maybe the coke. It basically turned the man into a hyperactive puppy. It was admittedly quite funny to watch Schneider try and fail to maintain his grumpiness in the face of it, though.

“Well I _was_ going to call for a pizza, but I don't think that's happening, do you?”

“You could always _make_ one? You're always going on about how good at cooking you are.” Schneider pointed out.

“Oh yeah, admittedly I hadn't thought of that. I just skipped straight to whiskey.” Richard shrugged.

“Of course you did. Listen-” Schneider said before a sudden rumbling sound echoed across the sky, making everyone jump slightly.

“What was that?”

Everyone looked around, trying to find the source of the noise and Paul suddenly appeared at the window, poking his head through the gap under Richard's arm.

“There!” Richard gestured (rather than pointed) in the direction of the city. The house was part-way up a large hill so on a clear night it was pretty easy to see from a distance. A plume of orange soared into the sky, followed by another massive cracking sound moments later. The four watched open mouthed as another went up, then another, cacophonous booms echoing in the air. It was hard to tell from that distance what exactly was exploding, but whatever it was wasn't exactly small. Richard couldn't help but feel a little bit excited by it, and probably shouldn't have found the sight so damn _pretty_.

“Well.” Olli swallowed slightly. “That escalated quickly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this bit, I came to the realisation that although I said zombies, a lot of this story might not appeal to people who don't like the episodes of The Walking Dead where there's a lot of talking lmao. If you're after all zombies all the time then you're probably in the wrong place, is what I'm saying. We also have our first pairing! So that's nice! I'm using the 'dark comedy' tag but honestly i'm the only person who finds me funny so take that as you will. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: this is all fiction, love you, bye.


	3. Public Service Broadcasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days into the apocalypse, and Paul is treating It like a holiday. The gang receive a message from the other side.

By the second day, the internet had gone down completely and moments after the city burned, every channel was playing the same looped video reel, a pleasant collection of footage of the mountains, rolling hills and green meadows with the odd shot of a rabbit chewing a dandelion leaf for good measure which seemed like a fairly piss poor attempt to be calming when it was followed by a cacophonous buzzing sound, an emergency broadcast system stream popping up with a disconcertingly vague message, read by a digital facsimile of a woman's voice. 

**Emergency Broadcast System**

**Residents are advised to remain in their homes whilst emergency and military services continue with contingency measures and decontamination procedures throughout the metropolitan area. Please be advised that under Emergency Statute 149.b, anyone out in public after 8pm will be in violation of the law and enforcement officers are authorised to and WILL take appropriate action.**

After the initial bombardment, the action had died down somewhat but the odd, distant _boom_ could be heard, the rattle of gunfire. It seemed further away than the city now but that just made everyone wonder where else might be in line for obliteration. 

It was the curfew that did Richard in, and he had by that point spent two days being _absolutely fucking outraged_ that the government was treating everyone like a bunch of teenagers who'd been caught underage drinking on a Friday night, especially when not one person in authority had made any kind of statement as to what the hell was going on. The fact that there was now razor wire around the outside of the place didn't help, either. 

“I fucking hate this.” He muttered, the excitement well and truly worn off. “At least in prison the fucking TV works.” He stopped cycling through the channels and willing it to show something different, and threw the remote down onto the cushions with a huff. He was almost tempted to take what remained of his coke stash out of sheer boredom, but then there wouldn't be any left and that probably wouldn't be good for anyone so he'd decided to be sensible and try and eak it out as far as he could, then worry about what to do after that when the need arose. 

“You know you _could_ do something other than watch TV.” Paul said, not looking up from his book. In contrast, he was quite enjoying the quiet. Well, he was when it wasn't broken by Richard's complaining. 

“Is that an offer?” He asked with something of a lascivious wink. 

“Absolutely not.” Paul smirked. “I'm not _that_ bored.”

“Ow.” Richard gasped, pretending to be wounded by it even though it wasn't even the meanest thing they'd said to each other that afternoon, let alone the last couple of days. “Hurtful.” Suddenly, he sat up, realising just how quiet the house had gotten. “Where is everyone?” 

“Flake and Till are in _Doktor Lorenz' lab_ downstairs, I think. Not sure about the other two but I'm pretty sure we can guess.” 

“Hm.” He nodded, slouching back again and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “I keep expecting Till to have come up with a plan by now. Doesn't seem like it's happening, though.” 

“A plan for what?” Paul asked, putting his book down and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Bit hard to plan when you don't know what the fuck is happening out there and as much as he won't admit it, he's as clueless as the rest of us. I know he's in charge around here but he's not an oracle, you know?” 

“I never said he was!” Richard frowned, rubbing his forehead frustratedly. “I just really wish _something_ would happen. Just being stuck here waiting is going to drive me fucking crazy.” 

Paul sighed a little. He knew Richard would follow Till to the ends of the earth if he asked him to do it. Of course they probably all would, but he'd be the most enthusiastic of all. He'd suspected, a long time ago that _something_ had happened between them but never knew for sure until a particularly heavy night out – a celebration of a job well done – when a heroic amount of booze and substances were consumed and he found himself having to practically drag Richard back to his tiny rented apartment because the connection between his legs and his brain appeared to have completely broken. He'd left the others to carry on the night and offered to take care of him, surprising considering they hadn't exactly gotten along in the beginning, nearly coming to blows several times over virtually nothing. It wasn't until the incident with Richard's hand that they actually started to become friends and stop trying to kill each other. 

Once he'd managed to get him inside and situated somewhere he wasn't likely to injure or kill himself, Richard had insisted they carry on drinking – much against Paul's repeated advice against it – and what had started out as a conversation about the girl who'd apparently been trying to catch both their eyes in the bar slowly got more honest and ended in a rather emotional confession about what exactly had happened between Till and Richard a few years before. As far as Till was concerned, it wasn't anything serious and had moved on - _many_ times over, in fact. On the other hand, the little spark of _something_ Richard carried with him was more like a burning building and it seemed very much like he was trapped on the roof, blithely telling himself that _this is fine_. Of course, with the hangover came an unspoken vow to _never_ speak of it again. Since then, though, he'd found himself looking out for his younger friend a little more because if _anyone_ was going to throw themselves in front of a bullet for Till's sake, it was Richard – and Paul didn't expect he'd get much of a thanks in return. 

“I just hate being stuck behind these things.” Richard admitted, gesturing at the now rather menacing looking walls outside. 

“I know.” Paul said with a small sympathetic smile. “You've just got to have a bit of patience, that's all.” 

“Oh, sure. You know me, I'm _full_ of patience.” He snorted slightly. 

“Well. When it comes to certain things you apparently have a boundless supply.” He noted, though it probably came out a little bit more pointed than he'd intended it to be. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He couldn't exactly say Paul was wrong on that one, though these days he'd resigned himself to things as they were as much as it pained him to admit it. The status quo was far better than nothing at all, he supposed. He was about to get up when suddenly, Paul sat up with a gasp. 

“Rich! The TV!” He pointed at the set, then at the remote. Richard took it off mute and sat forward, narrowing his eyes at the new footage. “Hit record, I'm going to get Till and Flake.” He said, heading for the basement. 

Doing as he was told, Richard pressed record and realised what he was looking at was a hand in extreme close up, covering the lens of a camera with muffled voices in the distance. He wondered it if it was some kind of government announcement, although thought they'd at least _pretend_ they had their shit together before turning the cameras on. 

_'Ready? Okay, go.'_ a woman's voice spoke, and then the hand disappeared and was replaced by a man's face, covered by a bandana from nose to mouth. Probably mid-twenties by the look of it, if Richard had to guess. 

_'Hello out there.'_ He began and it was immediately clear that he was no kind of public speaker. 'If _any of you are out there, I suppose. We are broadcasting live from what's left of Berlin right now. We are on a... borrowed feed, so I'm not sure how long we'll be on air for.”_

“Oh, shit.” Richard leaned back and yelled for the others to hurry up. 

_'You may be wondering where the official announcements are about all this, and I can assure you there won't be any. If you're waiting for any kind of guidance or help... I'm afraid there won't be any of that either. The government has abandoned it's people, whisked away by luxury cars to where no harm will come to any of them – unlike any of us left in this place.”_

The man reached forwards for the camera, taking it from his unseen companion. It became clear they were inside some kind of high-rise, and the closer the man got to the window, the more apparent the damage became. Several buildings came into view that Richard instantly recognised, only now they were little more than blackened, burned out husks of what they once were. He'd lived just around the corner from there at one point. 

_'This is what's left.”_ he panned the camera around to paint a vivid picture of the sheer scale of the destruction. _”This is what happens when the authorities are clueless and jump straight to the last resort._

“Jesus.” Flake gasped, leaning on the back of the sofa. “It looks like they fucking _nuked_ it.” 

_They're not going to give you the truth, so I'm going to._ ” The man handed the camera back over and walked back into the shot, perching on a nearby table. _There has been an outbreak. Some kind of disease or virus, I don't know what and again, there's nobody here to clarify.”_ He wrung his hands anxiously, _”It causes the sufferer to lose all sense and control. Causes them to become... mindless and rageful, attacking anyone and anything within it's reach. They become overwhelmed by.. by an insatiable hunger and if they get their hands on you they_ will _feed. Unfortunately, this is also how the contagion spreads. Both by biting and also by scratches, should the skin be broken. Tuesday morning, there was two cases reported. Two hours later there were hundreds and it only got exponentially worse from there. Evidently, it moved far faster than anyone could get it under control, so they began the firebombing as a means of stopping the disease in it's tracks.”_ He shook his head morosely. _“As you may or may not already know, they failed in that task.”_

“Holy _fuck_.” Richard whispered, wanting to ask someone else in the room if they were hearing this too, because otherwise he was tripping _balls_. 

_”Let me be very clear. If you are bitten, you too will become afflicted and once that happens, there is no coming back from it. In most cases, the change is almost immediate, but others have taken several days to succumb. What you need to know is that however long it takes, it is an inevitability. Sadly, in order to free them from this hell, you must destroy the victim's brainstem._ He paused for a moment and swallowed, his eyes becoming glassy before adding quite shakily, _”Bullets tend to work best.”_

Paul let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and shook his head, sitting down next to Richard. Seeing it from a distance was one thing but when it was illustrated so vividly on the screen, it was both surreal and horrifying. 

_There is a small group of us here, attempting to re-establish communications with... well, anyone. If there is anyone. We discovered cases being reported both within the country and outside of it – we do not know if anyone else has fared better in terms of keeping it contained.”_ There was a sound of shattering glass in the distance and the man jumped slightly. 

_'We need to move._ ' The woman behind the camera advised, and he nodded in agreement. 

_'Other than that, I don't know what I can tell you, or if we'll be able to broadcast from this channel again but we will endeavour to do so. If you're out there, I'm afraid you need to know that you're on your own.”_ He nodded towards the camera. _”Good luck.”_

With that, the camera was turned off and the screen filled with static before breaking back into the same nature footage that had been on earlier, complete with irritatingly twee _muzak_. Richard immediately hit mute. 

“Well.” Flake spoke with a mild tone of resignation.. “I guess it really is the end of the world.” 

“Now, see?” Paul said with a slight smirk, unable to help himself. “ _That_ is a more appropriate reaction.” 

“Fuck off.” He chuckled, despite himself. 

Everyone needed to take a moment or two to process what they'd just heard. On one hand Till couldn't deny a small frisson of excitement at the idea of the world suddenly becoming so lawless and chaotic, but then that also meant that laws no longer applied to anyone else, either – and that was definitely going to lead to some problems amongst whoever was left, and that to him was a more challenging prospect than the outbreak itself. 

“Shit.” Flake said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him, puzzled at the sudden outburst and waiting for the reason. 

“We need to get Schneider down here.” He said grimly. “Right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh.


	4. Neither Ever, Nor Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider and Olli attempt to have some alone time, and Till calls a family meeting.

You're still awake then?”

He couldn't see him, but Schneider could feel Olli smirk against the back of his neck and shift closer, one arm winding around his waist.

“I think I dozed off for a while but your snoring woke me up.”

“You fucker.” Schneider grinned, keeping his eyes closed although he knew they should probably remove themselves from the bed at some point. Still, there wasn't exactly anything happening and as far as he was concerned this was the best possible use of his time.

“It's not my fault you sound like a warthog's death rattle.” Olli teased, pulling Schneider back against his chest until they were pressed flush, his hand skittering lightly over his hipbone and resting tormentingly just above his boxers, dragging his fingers over the sensitive skin there, causing Schneider to squirm slightly.

“You know we're gonna have to get up at some point.” He said, his voice a little rough at the edges all of a sudden.

“What, like now?” He asked lowly, dragging his teeth along the nape of Schneider's neck and pressing his hips forward, grinding against him slightly. “Like _right_ now?”

“Well,” He began, unable to finish his thought when Olli's hand slid along the front of his boxers, palming his dick through the thin fabric. He grumbled out a small “No.” instead of whatever the hell he was about to say and turned over, crushing their lips together eagerly, using his own momentum to push Olli back against the mattress and climb on top of him, knees digging into it either side of his hips. He grabbed each of Olli's hands and pinned them up above his head because he'd never been all that good at relinquishing control. The prone man smirked up at him in a way that was affectionate enough to make him look away shyly, feeling just a little exposed.

“Stop it.” He mumbled a warning that didn't have much force behind it. Leaning down, he pecked at his lips, tugging the bottom one between his teeth playfully.

“What?” He grinned, flexing his fingers and lifting his head off the pillow, nudging his forehead against Schneider's and looking him dead in the eye with that same, goofy smile.

“Because I'm trying to fuck you and you're being very distracting.”

Olli snickered, dipping his head and pressing kisses from his jaw to his throat, nipping at the sensitive skin there and making Schneider shudder on top of him. “Look, you got up there, I'm just admiring the view.” He said, punctuating his point by nipping Schneider's earlobe, the low rumble  
of his voice sending electricity down his spine.

 _”Schneider!_ ”

“Ignore it,” Olli ordered as the voice came from downstairs, using the distraction as a chance to wriggle his hand free and grab a handful of Schneider's ass.

_” Hey, Schneider – you got a second? It's important.”_

Schneider grunted in frustration and closed his eyes. Sensing he was about to answer, Olli mischievously slipped his hand down and stroked him through his boxers, making his voice come out strained and a good pitch higher than he intended when he opened his mouth.

“Give me a second!” He called back, then slapped at his hand, much to Olli's amusement. “You little shit!” Sighing, he reluctantly rolled off Olli's lap and sat on the edge of the bed. “If Richard just wants to tell me how bored he is again, I'm going to fucking murder him.”

“Oh, I'm definitely coming with you, then.” He smirked, leaning over the bed and grabbing his (mercifully baggy) combat pants and pulling them on, tucking himself away as best he could before dragging his hoodie over his head. Schneider found a baggy t-shirt and jeans and threw on a beanie to disguise the fact that his hair now looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.

 _”Schneider!”_ It was definitely Till's voice, that time. An unmistakable, throaty bellow that echoed off the tiles in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.

“I'm fucking coming, for fuck's sake!” He growled, flinging the door open and almost stomping towards the stairs, closely followed by a smirking Ollie. In typical form, he muttered and groused all the way down them and entered the living room with an irritated. “ _What?_

Flake, Paul, Till and Richard all looked between each other, then at Schneider. He narrowed his eyes, not exactly sure why they were looking at him with such concern.

“Jesus, boys. Who fucking died?” Mentally, he counted everyone just to be sure.

“Come look at this.” Paul finally spoke up, cocking his head towards the TV. Picking up the remote, he found the recording of the broadcast and hit play, deciding to let that do the majority of the explaining for now.

Arms folded, he watched the hijacked broadcast and nodded slowly. All of this wasn't exactly a surprise, given the 'drunk' he'd gotten up close and personal with a few days before.

“So, what?” Schneider shrugged when it ended. “We know how to kill them now. That's good, right?” He asked, seeing Flake hovering next to him just on the periphery of his vision. When he felt him tugging at his arm, he snapped it away quickly, turning his head. “Flake, what the fuck? It didn't bite me or anything!” He assured him, already able to guess what he was looking for.

“Scratches.” Flake said simply.

“It didn't scratch me!” He argued, “And you heard what he said, it would have acted faster than this!”

Sighing, he gestured at the top of Schneider's arm. “Then what's that?”

“What's what?” He shook his head, turning his arm a little to inspect what he was looking at. Sure enough, there was a large, ragged red slash running down the side of his bicep. It was a little inflamed, sure – but hardly anything major. “It's just a bit of a scrape – I didn't even notice it.” He shrugged, not feeling at all alarmed by the discovery. His entire body was a litany of scars and badly healed wounds, anyway.

“Then how did you do it?” Flake asked, folding his arms.

Schneider thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don't know? maybe I caught it on the wall or something.” He shrugged, looking between his friends' grim expressions and slowly realising what it was they were getting at. “Oh for fuck's sake,” He groaned, his immediate reaction one of exasperation. “It's _nothing_.”

“Here,” Flake proffered a thermometer in Schneider's direction. “Stick this in your mouth.” He noted his suspicious expression and rolled his eyes. “It's _clean_ , you idiot.”

Scoffing, he shoved it in his mouth just to put an end to this absolute nonsense.

“Is this not a _bit_ of an overreaction?” Olli asked, getting increasingly worried about where this whole situation was heading. “You heard the guy, most people go much faster than this.”

“Better to be on the side of caution though, hm?” Paul spoke up, sensing that he was going to end up having to mediate here, as usual.

Schneider took the thermometer and looked at it, then handed it to Flake.

“38 degrees C.” He read out.

“It's a _little_ high, and I just got out of bed! For fuck's sake..”

“It's _high_.” Flake emphasised. “About what you'd be running if you had an infection.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Olli noticed Till reaching behind his back and gripped by a strange sense of panic, not considering whether it might be an overreaction, he stepped directly in front of Schneider.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” He demanded, and Till raised his hands as though he wasn't about to grab the gun from his belt – which he definitely was, though only as a precaution. “Have you all lost your _fucking_ minds? Tell me you weren't going for your gun then – I _fucking_ dare you.”

“Olli-” Schneider warned, placing a hand on his back and tightening his fist in his hoodie, ready to pull him back if he had to.

“Look, you heard what he said.” Till pointed at the TV, not even bothering to keep up the pretence. “When it happens, it happens _fast_. Don't get in my face because I'm the only one here who's gonna be practical about this.”

“What, so you were just going to stick one in his brain, get it over and done with?” Olli raged, jabbing his finger in Till's direction. “You're a _fucking_ psychopath.”

“Oh, really?” Till laughed in the way he always did when he was angry, and that immediately put everyone else on edge as it was usually a sure sign that Till was on the verge of absolutely losing his shit and though it was rare – surprising, given his reputation - when it happened it was _explosive_ \- and that was even before he produced the gun and aimed it at Olli. It didn't even matter that he had no real intention of _shooting_ Schneider right then at that stage. “If you're going to be stupid enough to let your _boyfriend_ put us all in danger then why don't I just save us the trouble and get rid of you both at the same time?”

Of course, had he been even close to thinking straight, his mind not clouded with the worry that Schneider was infected and there was _nothing_ they could do, the words wouldn't have come out of his mouth. More often than not, he tended to let everything _except_ his voice do the intimidating – but it was out there now, and he was too stubborn to take it back. Quickly, Richard and Paul stepped in between them, easing the two sides away from each other. Paul nudging Olli backwards and a little further out of the line of fire, softly pleading with him to take a breath.

“For fuck's sake Till stop waving that thing around like it's your dick!” Richard scolded, shoving at his chest. Till glared at him icily before he added a quiet, almost begging “ _Please_. Don't do this.” The stare lingered for a moment or two but thankfully, Richard's obvious distress made him relent, and he placed his gun back in its holster – though that didn't mean he was any less ready to use it if he was forced to.

Once things had somewhat de-escalated, Flake finally felt comfortable enough to step in.

“I have a proposal – which I was _about_ to tell you before you both decided to start beating your chests like a pair of fucking apes.” He glared disdainfully between the two guilty parties, his tone not unlike that of a disappointed mother. Incredibly, both looked sheepish at that and Paul silently prayed that he had a suggestion to put an end to the hostilities fully. “The utility room in the basement. There's enough space and it's got a bathroom. We set Schneider up in there for a couple of days and keep an eye on him. I've got a course of antibiotics I can give him. If it's a regular infection, then they'll put it right. If it _isn't_ , then... then we'll deal with it. But this way he'll be isolated until we know either way, and nobody ends up shooting anyone.” His eyes darted between Olli and Till. “Deal?”

“Fine.” Till shrugged, but fixed Olli with a look that might have turned him to stone, pointing straight at him. “But you come at me like that again and I won't be so fucking reasonable.”

“ _Till_!” Richard groaned.

“Fine, I'll fucking do it,” Schneider said quietly, apparently one of the only people in the room who wasn't losing his mind. “Just let me get some supplies from my room and I'll do what you want – if only to stop you two from behaving like a pair of absolute fucking neanderthals.” He stepped out from behind Olli, shoving him a little as he stalked past and headed upstairs. In a calmer situation he would have been quite taken aback by someone literally standing in front of a gun to defend him, but he always struggled when it came to accepting help and all he could think of was the fact that he nearly just had to witness Olli getting his brains blown out – and that _terrified_ him.

“Ten minutes.” Till barked after him.

“Ten minutes.” He repeated, feeling like he wasn't really in much of a position to argue.

Furiously, Olli chased after him without a word, thinking it best to put himself as far away from Till as possible right then, because he was being overwhelmed by the urge to strangle him with his bare hands.

“Well. I think that went about as well as it could have.” Flake said sarcastically, shaking his head as he turned and left the others for the basement, needing to prepare for the 'patient's arrival.

“I need a fucking drink.” Richard spat angrily and stalked off towards the kitchen before he lost his temper at Till for being such a bullheaded asshole.

Sighing, Till dropped onto one of the armchairs and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples. Paul moved to join him, momentarily torn between staying and checking on Richard. He opted to stay put, sitting down on the sofa.

“You have to admit, you could have handled that one better.” Paul offered gently, inwardly bracing himself for an earful.

“I know.” Till nodded, voice low and steady now and more angry at himself for losing it than anything else. In his efforts to remain the level-headed leader of the group, he'd somehow managed to become more unbalanced than anyone. “What do you want me to say? I panicked. I only went to grab the gun in case Schneider tried to do something stupid like make a run for it before we could figure out what to do.”

“And you nearly shot the pair of them,” Paul replied. “Jesus, man. I mean, not to be out of line here, but are you alright? That really wasn't like you back there.”

Till almost snapped, but the concern in the other man's voice stopped the anger dead in its tracks before it could emerge. “Yeah, mostly.” He nodded, knowing that Paul was trustworthy enough to confide in without it being spread any further. “I'm just not sleeping too well. Keep.. waiting for something to happen.”

“And when it does we'll be _ready_.” Paul assured him, “But you're putting too much on yourself. Keeping us safe isn't all on your shoulders, you know?”

“But it _is_.” Till groaned, focussing on a loose thread on his sleeve, twisting it tight around the tip of his finger and concentrating on the slow throb underneath his skin, centring himself on the sensation before snapping it away from the fabric in a quick motion. “I was the one who dragged all of you into this team, one way or another. Every time one of you gets hurt, that's on me. We nearly lost Richard because I wasn't looking out for him – after that, I swore that I'd _never_ have us in a situation like that again.”

“What?” Paul shook his head. “What happened to Richard was down to fucking Bayer – You couldn't have known what they were planning!”

“And he would have been out of their reach if he hadn't left that bar to get away from _me_.” He insisted, finally looking up at Paul with clear, sad eyes. “My instinct was to disable the threat before it _became_ a threat.” He frowned, guiltily. “It was a bad call and I'm sorry. If you and the others hadn't stepped in..”

“But we did.” Paul smiled a little. “Look, we all need our arses keeping in check sometimes – even you – but if we're going to have a cat in hell's chance of getting through this, we need to all keep each other standing equally and you can't do that if you're sat here dwelling on one stupid mistake.”

“I know, you're right.” Till agreed, rubbing his face and trying to rub out the last of the tension that had built up in the back of his neck. “I'll apologise to Olli later, once he's had the chance to calm down. And everyone else.” He groaned, burying his face in his hands with a sigh. “ _Shit_.”

“Well, you don't have to give one to me. This conversation was enough.” Paul shrugged, rising to his feet and putting his hand on Till's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Just try and get some rest, yeah?”

“Alright.” He agreed, eyeing up the couch as good a place as any to take a nap. “You going to see Richard?”

“Yeah. Probably best check he hasn't downed the rest of the alcohol supply, you know what he's like.” Paul chuckled, straightening his beanie. “I hope Flake's got more cigarettes stashed around here somewhere or else he's going to be a fucking _nightmare_.”

Till laughed then, a low rumbling in his chest. “You say that like he isn't already.”

“Good point. I'll see you later.” Paul said before heading out, calling back over his shoulder. “Get some bloody _rest_.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Till agreed, waving his hand dismissively before getting up and flopping tiredly on the couch, hoping things would look a little better once he'd slept.

* * *

“Doom?” He called out the rarely spoken nickname, poking his head around the partially closed door to find Schneider, angrily bundling up some bedding and stacking several books and his phone next to it, grateful that he'd stored several gigs worth of music on there to get him through the next couple of days. That was, of course, if he made it that long – but he wasn't willing to even consider that prospect right then.

“Don't call me that.” Schneider snapped. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose I should have let him just put a bullet in your head, should I?” Olli replied with equal shortness. “Flake already had a plan and I thought that lunatic was about to kill you before he even fucking heard it! What was I supposed to do?”

“I don't know!” Schneider yelled, throwing his arms in the air and his voice fraying at the edges. “Just- Just not that!”

“Look,” Olli stepped forwards, gently wrapping his hand around Schneider's wrist and pulling him towards him. “I'm sorry, alright? I just – I did it without thinking. I couldn't just stand there and let that happen.”

“And what if he's right?” Schneider asked, looking up at Olli with slightly wide, increasingly glossy looking eyes. “I don't want to end up like that thing in the city.” He shook his head, a noticeable tremor in his voice. “I don't want to hurt you or the others. What if it would have been safer just to-”

“Hey,” Olli frowned, placing his hands either side of Schneider's face, making him look him in the eye. “Don't. You heard Flake, this is just a precaution. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to Schneider's forehead. “You're gonna go camp out in there for a few days, and then we're gonna come back up here and finish what we started before those assholes interrupted us, hm?” Schneider closed his eyes and Olli thought for a moment. “Or I could go in there with you.”

“No,” Schneider said almost immediately, pulling away from Olli and gathering his belongings. “Absolutely not. That room is tiny and if something – If something _happens_ and I hurt you..”

“I'm willing to take the risk,” Olli argued, sure that three days of 'wait and see' would drive him insane. The thought of waiting to see if what was on the other side of that door was still going to be the man he loved when it opened again made his throat tighten and his chest hurt.

“Well, I'm not,” Schneider said firmly, bundling the items in his arms. He was about to head straight for the door and avoid the _maybe-goodbyes_ that he didn't want to hear but the desperate look on Olli's face gave him pause. He couldn't be that cruel, after all. He turned on his heel and moved back towards him, putting everything down on the floor. “You know this is probably a huge fuss over nothing, right?” He said, trying to be convincing enough for both of them. He looped his arms around Olli's waist and leaned up to press an uncharacteristically chaste kiss to his lips, feeling the slight hitch in Olli's breath and the tremor in his hands when they found their way to his face. He pressed their foreheads together and let out a shaky sigh, reaching up to brush the stray tear that had escaped from the corner of Olli's eye with his thumb. “ _Don't_.” He almost begged, kissing Olli's bottom lip when it trembled slightly. “Don't you fucking dare,” Schneider warned, though there was no real conviction in it. He blinked past the stinging in his eyes and kissed him once more before reluctantly stepping back, gently prising Olli's hands away and squeezing them once before letting go. Bending down, he gathered his belongings and took one last look at Olli, fighting every urge he had to just go back to him until he stopped looking so damn _sad_. “I'll see you.” He said with a slight nod, refusing outright to say anything that sounded even remotely like a goodbye.

“Yeah.” Olli nodded, evidently trying his hardest to put a brave face on it. “I.. Yeah.”

Finally, Schneider managed to force himself out of the door and close it behind him. Olli sank onto the empty, newly-stripped bed and buried his face in his hands.

* * *

“Ah, there you are.” Flake looked up from his laptop when Schneider appeared at the door, flipping the lid closed and walking over to him, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. He pulled open the utility room door and walked inside, aiming to give the guided tour – which would take all of about twenty seconds.

“There's a toilet and a sink through that door there.” He pointed at that, then towards a small table in the corner of the room, continuing to reel off the list. “Kettle, stuff to make coffee, and there's a box of instant noodles up on this shelf. Should be enough to keep you going for the next few days. I'd offer you more, but until we can establish whether we can get our hands on any more supplies we're going to have to be cautious.”

“Fair enough.” Schneider nodded, tiredly and resignedly looking around at what was to be his home for at least the next few days... or at least he hoped.

“Oh, before I forget-” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pill bottle and handed it over. “Antibiotics. Three a day. Take 'em with food or you'll be making friends with that toilet on top of everything else.”

“Nice.” Schneider couldn't help but laugh, even if it did have a slightly hysterical edge to it.

“Now, is there anything else you want to get before I shut you in here because once I've locked that door, you're officially quarantined.”

Schneider genuinely thought about saying 'Olli' for a moment before thinking better of it, shaking his head. “I think I'm good.”

“Did.. did you talk to the others before you came down here?” Flake asked cautiously.

“No. I'll see them when I get out.” He declared confidently, although, in reality, it was because he'd already done one goodbye and that was more than he was able to handle right then all on its own.

“In which case, I'll wish you good luck.” Flake offered his hand for a shake, only for Schneider to grab it and pull him into a hug, which for him was strange and unexpected. He hugged him back despite the awkwardness.

“If anything happens, tell 'em I said bye.” Schneider muttered into his shoulder, as verbose as ever. More than determined that if this was the last time anyone was going to see him in one piece, he didn't want the last memory of him to be of how scared he actually was.

“I'll tell them.” Flake smiled, squeezing Schneider's shoulder before heading for the door. “I hope to see you soon.” He said, glancing over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

Schneider sighed and sat down against the wall, unwrapping the bottle of Whiskey he'd secreted in the bedding he'd brought before bundling the blankets and pillows behind him. Lying back, he unscrewed the cap and took a long slug, closing his eyes as it seared the back of his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and fixed the ceiling with a defiant stare.

“Alright, you bastard.” He said aloud to nobody in particular, or maybe death itself. “Come and fucking get me.”


	5. Where's The Fire?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Richard make an unwelcome discovery, Till meets an old flame, Flake definitely doesn't have a rocket launcher and Olli has a crisis of confidence.

Needing some fresh air, Richard had taken a cup of coffee outside and was sat up the corner of the seating area in the garden, sunglasses on and a long black jacket wrapped around himself. He hunched slightly, knees pulled up to his chest. He was much too hungover after drinking far too much to get over the previous day's drama.

“Heads up!”

“Huh?” Richard looked up just in time to get hit square in the face with a packet of cigarettes. “Fucking hell, Landers!”

Paul let out a surprised laugh and then attempted to look a little more apologetic. “I'm sorry! I thought you were going to catch it!”

“I forgive you.” Richard grinned, “But only because you raided Flake's stash for me. Like a tiny Christmas elf.”

“Fuck off.” Paul snorted, lightly swatting at his shoulder and dropping down next to him with a small sound of relief.

“Don't. I'm feeling fragile today.” He warned, waving Paul away in a slightly dramatic fashion. “I need to be really, really still or I might end up impersonating that chick from The Exorcist.”

“Alright _Regan_ , well if you didn't insist on getting hammered every night you wouldn't have this problem would you, genius?” Paul smirked, putting his feet up on the small table in front of them and fishing his own sunglasses out of his pocket, pushing them onto his nose. “I'm joining the moody goth club with you.” He smirked, and although he couldn't see Richard's eyes he knew he was rolling them.

“Not a fucking goth.” He huffed, having to put his cup down so he could one-handedly light another cigarette. “And of _course_ I'm getting hammered every night – what else is there to do? Everyone in there's already going stir crazy and we've not even been here a week! We're going to end up fucking killing each other before those things out there do.” He said, gesticulating with his cigarette. He'd been pretty calm (for him) up until that point but once he got going, he found it hard to stop, all of his feelings just coming out in one breathless rant. “It's fucking ridiculous and if this keeps up I'll end up taking my chances out there instead of staying here and watching everything go to shit!”

Paul leaned back and blinked at him, “You alright there, Reesh?”

“No! No, I'm fucking not! I've fucking had it!” He almost shouted, his position on the couch becoming even more defensive. “Schneider might be half-dead down there and if _that_ happens Olli's going off the deep end – and _that's_ if Till doesn't lose his shit and shoot him in the face first! I mean _Jesus_..”

Paul wasn't quite sure what to say to all that, and whilst it would have been just the right time to pull out some kind of profound bit of advice or something, he just couldn't resist trying to be funny even when it _really_ wasn't the time. He nodded slowly and then looked up at Richard. “Yeahhhh.” He said quietly. “I'm still pretty cool, though.”

Richard snorted and shook his head.

“Yeah, I am.” Paul grinned, nudging him with his elbow. “Coolest M'Fer in the house.”

“Calling your self 'M'Fer' is in itself very uncool. You know you're allowed to say motherfucker, right?” Richard reached out and grabbed Paul's shirt around the shoulder, shaking him boisterously. “Paul! You're an adult now! You're allowed to say it!”

“Well, at least one of us is.” He laughed, trying to roll away when Richard half flopped on top of him. “Get off me, you fucking lug!”

Richard finally sat back, slouched in his seat but closer to Paul's side, secretly a little bit touched that he'd come to check on him. “I'm not doing that again.” He said with a grimace, the sudden lurch forwards making his stomach roll unpleasantly. Even so, he was more relaxed now he'd just managed to verbalise what had been bothering him rather than let it stay where it was, building up steam and sitting like a rock in his chest. “I didn't mean to go off at you. It's just this whole situation is so, _so_ messed up, you know? I still can't quite believe it's happening.”

“I know.” He nodded, deciding against cracking any more jokes. “We're in uncharted territory here, and it shows. I mean, robberies, bank jobs, running the bars, protection – we can _do_ that. It's almost like we don't know what to do with ourselves without it.”

“Exactly. Too much time to think, too.” Richard nodded. “I hate that. My brain's an arsehole.”

“I think we've all probably got that problem.” Paul agreed, feeling the weight of Richard's head resting against the top of his arm. “You know, if it ever gets too much you can come and talk to me, right? I worry about you sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Shut up.” Paul snickered. “You know what I mean. And Till does.”

“No he doesn't.” Richard scoffed, stretching his arm out to stub out his cigarette before almost immediately lighting another. “Till cares about what the next job is going to be and how many people he can bang in the space in-between.”

“Honestly,” He insisted. “He's still beating himself up over what happened to your hand and that's been _years_ at this point. He's got this idea that if anything happens to us, that's on him.”

“Well, that's stupid. We all knew what we signed up for.” Richard shrugged, a slight ache rippling through the knuckles of his gloved hand as if to remind him that it still existed, despite its redundancy. Over the years, in his less lucid moments, he'd genuinely considered just taking an axe to the thing and it was probably only his own vanity that stopped him.

“Well, anyway. You're probably going to get a grovelling apology later so try and not be too smug when you get it.” Paul advised.

“Smug? Me?” Richard gasped, sounding mildly offended. “How dare you. But, yes, I'll be as gracious as I possibly can be. Although I think Olli's probably owed one first.”

“Yeah. Poor fucker.” Paul agreed, “I'm just really hoping Doom got that scratch from somewhere else and all this was just a whole load of nonsense for nothing. As annoying as unnecessary drama is, I'd rather that than the alternative.”

“I'm trying not to think about it.” Richard admitted quietly. As dysfunctional as they were, the group had been working and living together for that long that they were the closest thing to a family that he had. Losing one would be beyond disastrous for all of them.

Before they'd had the chance to ponder the potential loss for too long, they were both snapped out of it by a sound coming from the gate at the front of the property, a rhythmic clanking sound that certainly sounded like someone (or thing) attempting to get in. Wordlessly, they both looked at each other and got up to go and investigate.

_Clank. Clank. Clank_

A single figure stood outside of the gates, one of the infected walking persistently into the cold steel and bouncing off of it, apparently unable to comprehend why it couldn't continue on its path. It wasn't until it noticed the two mildly horrified looking criminals on the other side of the fence that it reacted, suddenly letting out an unearthly screech, reaching out and grabbing at the air in front of them. The strangest thing was that the creature was wearing a suit, not a cheap-looking one either by the look of it – it wasn't until after studying it a little longer that Paul suddenly had a realisation.

“Fuck _me_.” He gasped. “I know that guy!”

“Yeah?” Richard asked, tilting his head and trying to see if he did, too.

“Yeah, he's... Minister for Transport or something. Some high up spot in the cabinet.”

“Well. Looks like their little escape attempt didn't work out so well, did it?” Richard sipped at his drink that he'd inexplicably decided to bring with him. “Good. Deserting bastards. Hold this.” He passed his mug to Paul and with that, he reached into his coat and fired off two rounds, and the creature dropped to the floor like a sack of lead. He couldn't deny that it felt at least a little bit good – he'd wished death on many a politician over the years but really, in this case, it was a mercy more than anything.

The gunshot, however, had unsettled something outside of the gates. The sound started out as a murmur, like the sound of a crowd in a theatre before a show starts only rather than getting quieter it just increased, a mass groaning sound mingled with the sound of a hundred stumbling footsteps dragging over gravel.

“I don't like the sound of that.” Paul frowned, lightly smacking Richard's arm and asking him jokingly “What did you do?”

“I.. Pass.” He shook his head.

“Let me get up on your shoulders, I'm gonna see what's going on over the wall.” He said, walking behind him and patting his back. “Come on, get down a bit.”

“Could we not just get a ladder?!” Richard complained but crouched down anyway, letting Richard jump on his back and carefully shift himself until he was sat right on top of his shoulders. Carefully, he got himself upright again and tried to stop himself from swaying.

“Get closer to the wall!” Paul commanded and unsteadily, Richard did as he was asked, able to steady himself by pressing his good hand against it to reduce the sway. The sight that greeted Paul was something to behold, a staggering, growling mass of infected, seemingly hunting like a pack. The sound of the gun going off was enough to catch their attention and now they were converging on the house as if they knew what was attached to the other end of it was edible. “Ooh.” He said. “Well, that's not fucking good. Quick, put me down – we need to get the others.”

“What is it?!” Richard asked, carefully lowering himself down until Paul could climb off.

“Infected. A metric fuckton of them by my count.”

“Well, that's an interesting unit of measurement.” Richard smirked.

“Shut up. We need to thin them out as best we can – the gate can take a few of them pushing on it but I'm not so sure about that many.” Paul frowned worriedly. “I'll get Olli up on the roof, you get Till and Flake – see if Flake hasn't got a weapon of mass destruction hidden away somewhere in that Batcave of his, eh?”

“Oh god, I hope so.” Richard looked positively gleeful at the prospect.

The two raced inside and Paul made his way upstairs, sensing he might be a better person to coax Olli out of whatever brooding he might be doing than Richard, whose approach could easily be compared to a bull in a china shop when it came to delicate situations. He checked Olli's room first but he should have guessed that it wasn't where he would be. Gently, he knocked on the door to Schneider's room and pushed it open to find him curled up on the bed with his back facing the door.

“Olli!” Paul said. “I know it's not the best time but we've got a bit of a situation out there.”

“Hm.” Olli grunted, not moving. He cleared his throat but his voice still came out rough as a consequence of not speaking a word for the best part of a day. “What is it?”

“Infected. Big fucking hoard of them and if we're not careful they might take down the gates. We're going to see if Flake has something a little more effective but if you don't mind taking that sniper rifle of yours up on the roof it'd be a big help.” He asked almost sweetly like he was asking him to do some photocopying rather than sit on a roof shooting people.

Olli sighed and nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. “Okay.” He said. “I just need to grab everything and then I'll head up there.”

“Thanks, man. Take your radio with you... Oh! Any kind of muffler or silencer you've got, too. Turns out gunshots get them _really_ excited.” Paul paused, feeling the need to say at least _something_ about the day's events. “Look, I'm really sorry about earlier. I'm sure he's going to be alright, you know?”

“Yeah.” Olli said quietly, not wanting to discuss any of it at length right then. “Hope so.”

* * *

“Flake! _Flake!_ ” Richard yelled excitedly as he ran down the stairs, a rather bemused Till following behind. As far as Richard was concerned, this was the most exciting thing to happen in days, even if it did end up leading to their imminent deaths. He'd given Till a hurried explanation of the situation but was far more concerned whether the Techie downstairs had some fun toys to play with. “Flake!!!” He yelled once more as he barrelled through the door.

“Fuck's sake, Reesh. I'm not deaf.” Flake muttered, “You want something. I know that face.”

“Well, you know how you love blowing stuff up? And I love _watching_ you blow stuff up?”

“Yes?” Flake's nose wrinkled in confusion.

“We've got some visitors. And they need blowing up.” Richard grinned, bouncing on his heels.

“ _What?_ ” Flake squinted before turning to Till. “Can you translate, please? I don't speak Reesh.”

“Big crowd of infected outside the gates. Paul seems to think there's enough of them to bust down the gate so the quicker we can get rid of them the better.”

“See?” He looked at Richard. “How hard was that?” He thought for a moment, regarding each of the large metal closets that lined the basement walls. “I've probably got something – the problem is we need to take them out without taking out the walls or the gate – because if they go then we might as well stick a neon sign on the roof telling them to come and get us. That takes grenades and rocket launchers out of the equation.”

“You've got a rocket launcher?” Richard's eyes widened.

“No.” He lied. “I'm just saying explosives aren't the right way to go.”

“ _You've got a rocket launcher!_ ” He gasped. “Let me see it.”

“ _No._ ” Flake shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”

“What about fire?” Till asked, sensing the conversation was about to get way off track. “They said to kill the brainstem, burning them to a crisp would do that, right?”

“Well if they survived it, you'd think they'd be immobilised at the very least. The military firebombed the city so there must be something to that – it would have cut the numbers down even if they didn't get all of them. If we can at least cut it down to a few stragglers we'll be alright.”

“Until the next lot turn up.” Till said grimly.

“Until then, yes.” Flake nodded. “But for now, this is all we can do.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, clearly quite excited at the prospect of doing something that didn't involve stopping his fellow gang members from killing themselves or each other. He flung open a closet and pulling out a box of empty glass bottles and dumping them on the large metal workbench in the middle of the room, followed by a huge sheet of thin cotton. “Time to go a bit old school, boys. Good old Molotovs! There's a tank of alcohol here, fill them up from the tap. No, you can't drink it, Richard.”

“I didn't say anything!” Richard sulked, starting to tear the fabric into strips.

“You didn't have to.”

“Do you still have... y'know?” Till asked Flake with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Of course! How could I forget?” Flake gasped, racing to a closet in the far corner of the room, fiddling with a coded padlock for a moment before producing the only woman he was sure Till had ever truly loved: _Sophia_.

“Ah, there she is.” Till beamed, carefully taking the vintage, customised flamethrower as carefully as he would a baby – maybe even more so. “It's been a long time!”

“Well, there's not much call for flamethrowers in our line of work. Not often, anyway.” Flake shrugged. “Want to go and give her a spin?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows almost suggestively.

“Oh, fuck yes.” He nodded, letting Flake help strap the fuel tank onto his back, making sure it was secure. “Good?”

“Good.”

“Hang on a second, are you not going to help me with these?” Richard spoke up from the table, stuffing fabric into his second Molotov.

“I'll send Paul down. He must have gotten Olli up on that roof by now.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Richard frowned, knowing better than to get in between Till and the _love of his life._ He wasn't jealous of a flamethrower. He absolutely wasn't. “Have fun.”

* * *

Olli frowned up at the sky when he walked out onto the roof, the light was fading and that wasn't going to help one bit when it came to picking those things off. He set up his tripod against the wall of what was basically a rooftop garden looking out over the front gate and, from the height of the building, a hundred yards or so either side of the wall. From that high up the mass outside the gates was a strange sight, walking back and forth aimlessly and making patterns like a swarm of birds. The one thing he did notice whilst prepping his rifle was the smell. Just one on its own, it wasn't noticeable but with such a large number of them, the unmistakable stench of death carried in the wind and made his stomach turn. Shaking himself out of it, he fixed the gun to the tripod and readied himself behind the sight. The infected looked even worse close up – peeling, mottled skin and mouths lolling open in a permanent scream. Every so often, he thought he could see a familiar face amongst the crowd and he shuddered, the rapidly diminishing sane part of his brain reminding him that it couldn't _possibly_ be who it looked like.

Taking a deep breath, he found one particularly persistent figure, shoving at the gate over and over. He steadied his hand and squeezed the trigger, letting off one near-silent bullet and piercing its skull. Olli sighed deeply, relieved that he wasn't so messed up that he couldn't do his job. Returning to his weapon, he picked off one, then another, then two more before noticing Till and Flake were heading for the gate. Opting to avoid firing in their direction, he turned and started aiming for the ones nearer the other side of the wall. He could get very zen when he was on sniper duty, the stillness required like a kind of meditation – blocking out everything else to focus on that one, simple thing. He was distantly aware of the fires, of more silenced shots, of the unearthly scream that rose into the air as the creatures became engulfed and then the smell. Jesus Christ, the _smell_. Despite that, Olli remained focused – at least until he caught sight of just one lone Infected, stumbling down a steep grass bank outside the wall. It could have been anyone, but the sight of a dark mohawk left him momentarily paralysed.

It wasn't. It _couldn't_ be. But in his mind..

“Fucking stop it.” He hissed at himself, taking his hands off the rifle and moving them around to try and stop them from shaking. All of a sudden it felt like the floor was tilting like a funhouse and he couldn't seem to get to stop the world from spinning. “Come on..” He ordered, because he _couldn't_ do this now. The others needed him and he needed them or else he was never going to survive this shitshow. He shook his head and returned to the sight, trying to force all of his limbs to start working as they should. He fired at the first target he found and managed to strike the neck, leaving it screaming and staggering towards the flames. “ _Shit_.” He muttered, before firing off one round, then another, then another....

Then screaming.

He looked up, having only just found his rhythm again to realise that the noise was coming from inside the gates. Someone was on the floor, one of his _brothers_ was on the floor and the others were crowding around him suddenly. Did _he_ do that? He scrambled back away from the rifle, watching the others silhouetted by the burning swathe of infected outside dragging somebody in by the arms and legs. Time seemed to skip and suddenly he was on his knees, gasping for breath.

“ _Shit. Oh, shit._.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That happened.


	6. Mein Herz In Flammen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olli's lapse in concentration causes a crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no medical knowledge whatsoever.

“Ugh, that is not a good smell.” Flake grimaced as they approached the gate, placing a ladder against the nearest wall. It was hard to see from where they were but if that alone was anything to go by, there were a thousand of the damn things out there.

“It's about to get even worse in a minute,” Till said gruffly, a slight smirk on his face. “Here, you hold the ladder and I'll see if I can set some off from here.”

“Be careful,” Flake warned. “If you go over you're done for – and you're not leaving me alone with these fucking nutjobs.”

“You say that like you're not one of them.” Till laughed, clapping Flake on the shoulder before scaling the ladder, peering as best he could over the wire and getting a good look at just how many were out there. “We have got neighbours, you know?” He informed them as though they might just accept that and move on to eat somebody else who was far less prepared. Catching his scent, several Infected stumbled blindly towards the wall, shoving against it and reaching upwards towards him. He stood far enough up the ladder to be able to shoot downwards without being caught by the razor wires and arming the flamethrower he sent a ball of fire downwards, causing the Infected to scream and screech, stumbling backwards and into the others, though the ones who'd caught the full force of it not quite managing to catch any of the others alight. Seemingly just in time, the sound of rattling bottles accompanied Paul and Richard, the former armed with a box of Molotov cocktails, too heavy for Richard to manage with one arm.

“About time.” Flake said, “Make sure they go over the gate – we don't want to go setting ourselves on fire, too.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn't put the one-armed guy in charge of putting them together we'd have gotten them done a bit faster.” Paul pointed out.

“...I hadn't thought of that.” Flake admitted sheepishly.

“Yeah, nobody ever does.” Richard muttered, taking a lighter out of his pocket before belatedly realising that he couldn't hold a cocktail and light it at the same time. Spotting his difficulty, Paul grabbed one out of the box and lit it for him. Moving closer to the gate, he pulled his arm back and flung the bottle so that it smashed right into the middle of the road, the alcohol spreading underneath the Infected's feet and guiding the flames to their target.

“Couple more like that will help.” Till called down, continuing to blast flames into the crowd and looking happier than he had in days.

Slowly they found a rhythm, pelting Molotovs and firing until eventually, the Infected's bodies burned, limbs contracting and freezing them in place as the flames raged around them in a makeshift pyre. The pace only broke when the sound of a sniper's bullet skimmed a little too close for comfort, making Paul shift sideways suddenly, grabbing Richard's coat to stop himself from falling.

“Fucking hell, Olli.” He huffed under his breath, turning around and yelling up towards the roof. “ _Careful!_ ”

“Do you think he's alright to be up there?” Richard asked, looking back at the house and his forehead crinkled with concern.

“I'm sure he's fine. Maybe it just felt closer than it-”

His sentence was cut short by a sudden yelp of pain. Everyone turned to see where it had come from to find Till narrowly clinging onto the ladder, hunching over it and barely managing to avoid the wires. A small red circle formed right at the top of his shoulder and started to grow rapidly.

“Till!” Flake shouted. “Get down!” Till at least had the sense to climb down and Flake helped remove the canister strapped to his back before he dropped to the floor, clutching his shoulder.

“Did... Did Olli just _shoot me_?” He asked, and looked strangely amused about it too. Richard shot a furious glare in the direction of the roof and bristled, torn between helping right there and going up to find out what the hell he was playing at.

Flake tugged at the collar of Till's shirt and gave it a cursory glance.“Yes, he did.” His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the injury where the bullet had passed through his chest. The wound looked a little high to have hit anything important, at least in his limited medical experience which basically involved teaching himself how to patch the others up because they spent their lives pathologically avoiding going to hospital, but the ammunition Olli was using had left a nasty, gaping hole and he needed to stop the bleeding as fast as possible or a 'good' gunshot wound (well, as good as they got) might end up becoming a crisis. He didn't say that to the others, though. Seemed no sense in panicking anyone just yet. “Though given the fact that he could hit a gnat from a mile away with that thing, I'm guessing it was an accident.”

“Hm.” Richard huffed, remembering the previous day's fight.

“Oh, come on.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“We can deal with that later – we need to get him inside,” Flake informed everyone, and that's exactly what they did, dragging Till down to the basement, the metal workbench doubling up as a makeshift gurney. Flake clicked his fingers at a stunned looking Paul. “Here,” He said, grabbing a (stolen) paramedic's bag and handing him a large compress. “Put that over the wound and put as much weight on it as you can. Once it's stopped I can try and put it back together and dress it.”

Nodding, Paul did as he was instructed and jumped into action, ignoring Till's groans of pain as he pushed the dressing hard against the wound.

“Sorry, man.” He said apologetically, glancing down as the blood rapidly started soaking through the bandage and pooling around his fingers. “Flake..” He said, sensing something was was going _badly_ wrong.

“Can't..” Till gulped suddenly, a rattling sound in his throat as he started struggling on the table, The pain resonated deep in his chest, making it even harder to get a breath in.

“ _Flake!_ ” Paul yelled at the man who was already rushing back to the table.

“Jesus fucking... “ He groaned, because of _course_ Till would have to make his life difficult. He went back into the bag and returned, nudging Paul out of the way and removing the compress, replacing it with a thin sheet of plastic.

Richard, who was stood against the wall watching helplessly as this unfolded in front of him in stunned silence finally found his voice to ask; “What the fuck is going on?”

“I think it's a punctured lung,” Flake said, not looking up from what he was doing. “I'm stopping it from collapsing any further or we're in deep shit.” He returned his attention to Till, tapping his cheek when he saw the other man's eyes rolling slightly. “Hey. You fucking well stay awake.”

“Yes... Frau... Flake...” Till choked out, and even then he was _still_ managing to find things to joke about. Apparently being on the verge of death worked wonders for a man's sense of humour. That was reassuring right up until it wasn't. His teeth clenched and he groaned, feeling like there was a crushing weight sat on his chest. Everyone's voices started fading out and the room turned black.

* * *

The basement was a flurry of activity and despite his pleas to be able to do something, do _anything_ , he was assured there wasn't anything to be done as Paul and Flake rushed around trying to bring Till back. Flake had produced a blood bag from _somewhere_ and had he been able to do anything other than try not to have a panic attack right then he would have questioned where in the hell it came from. Paul was kneeling on the bench at that point, doing forceful compressions that made the body underneath him jerk and twitch. He wasn't sure when his brain had decided that he couldn't watch anymore, but he found himself stumbling up the stairs on unsteady legs, sucking in gulping, shaky breaths.

“Rich?”

Though his vision was blurred, Olli's frame was immediately recognisable and before the taller man could say any more, Richard let out a furious yell and charged forwards, sending them both crashing to the floor.

“You fucker!” He spat, swinging a punch at Olli's head who just about managed to raise his arm to protect himself.

“Rich.. _please_.” He begged, peering out from behind his arm only to catch a fist to the eye hard enough to make it feel like his brain was rattling in his skull. The fact that he'd been mid panic attack even before Richard had launched himself at him didn't help. “...Accident.” He gasped out.

“Like fuck it was!” He yelled. “You've been gunning for him since yesterday and you took your chance. I swear if he dies-”

“I didn't even know who I hit!” Olli shouted desperately, trying to crawl out from under the man who was straddling him and trying really hard to give him a concussion. “I swear I didn't know!”

“Liar!” He continued to swing but they were getting less vicious, mercifully.

“I blacked out up there..” He admitted shakily, arms still folded across his head. “I started seeing things, alright?!” He said, not wanting to admit to such a moment of weakness but knowing that he had to say something just to get Richard to stop hitting him. “I thought I saw Schneider out in that crowd and I blacked the fuck out, I'm _sorry_.” His words came out in a breathless rush, knowing that Richard's temper went from a fist-fight to bloody murder real quick when the urge took him, especially when it came to matters regarding Till. Apparently, something he said had gotten through to him and he felt the other man's weight slide off his torso and land on the floor next to him, breathing heavily. Finally, he felt safe enough to lower his arms and look at him. “Is... Is he...?”

Richard shook his head and swallowed thickly, arms resting on his raised knees and his head bowed. “Not yet. Paul and Flake are doing their best, but..” His voice cracked and he sniffed sharply.

Carefully, Olli sat himself up and shifted closer, putting a hand on his back cautiously, trying to ignore the sheer weight of guilt that sat on his shoulders.

“There was nothing I could do to help,” Richard said quietly. “I was just stood there being fucking useless as usual.”

“You're not useless,” Olli assured him. “Look, those two know what they're doing. They've patched us up enough times, remember?”

“What if they can't this time?” He asked tearfully. “If he – If it happens, I don't know what I'm gonna do.”

Sighing, Olli draped an arm around his shoulder. It wasn't like he didn't know how that felt. His mind wandered to the room downstairs that he was locked out of, his imagination hadn't stopped conjuring increasingly horrific scenarios since the moment Schneider had walked out of the room the day before. Richard sniffed sharply and inwardly cursed himself. In his blind rage it barely even occurred to him that they were both stuck in the same boat, one that was taking on water at that.

“Best not to think about it.” Olli offered gently. “Believe me.”

“Too late.” He mumbled, a choked sob forcing its way out of his mouth.

“Yeah, same.” Olli agreed miserably.

Minutes or hours could have passed in their consolatory huddle in the hallway, but neither of them moved an inch until Paul appeared, clothes dishevelled and bloody, at the top of the basement stairs, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath. Richard couldn't decipher the look on his face. More than anything, he just looked exhausted.

“He's still kicking,” Paul informed them, sliding down the wall and sitting opposite them. The other two let out a collective sigh of relief for very different reasons. “He's lost a lot of blood, though. Not out of the woods yet, Flake says.” Paul let out a small laugh. “Knew we wouldn't get rid of him that easily. Next thing is getting him into a real bed but Flake wants to keep him down there and keep an eye on him for tonight. Ideally, we could do with some kind of heart monitor but surprisingly that's one of the few things Flake hasn't got stashed down there.”

“Is he awake?” Richard asked, voice shuddering with lingering anxiety.

“No. But right now that's probably for the best. Gives him a chance to heal up. As long as he keeps breathing we don't need to panic about that just yet.” He nodded at Olli, who was now sporting a nasty split above his eyebrow and was starting to develop a dark ring around his eye. “What happened there?” He asked, then looked at Richard, who looked away guiltily and scratched the side of his head – which pretty much answered the question. “Fuck's sake, Reesh.”

“It's fine.” Olli insisted because apparently, he had the patience of a saint. “I'd have done the same if I thought he'd shot Schneider on purpose.” He shrugged, casting a sad glance towards the door. “It was an accident, though.”

“I know that,” Paul assured him, pushing himself up off the wall and stretching slightly. “I'm going for a shower. I look like a murderer... _again_.” He nodded at the others and tiredly headed upstairs.

"Well. I mean, that's not entirely inaccurate." Olli teased and earned a rather gory looking middle finger thrown over Paul's shoulder.

“I think I'm gonna go down there, see how things are. You coming?” Richard asked Olli.

“Yeah, alright.” He guessed he should, figuring it best to see the damage he'd done now, rip off the band-aid before the wound started to fester. He unfolded his legs and rose to his feet, ignoring the way they'd started to go numb. He held a hand out for Richard to take hold of and pulled him upright, letting him go first before following him down to the basement.

“Well,” Flake said when he caught sight of them from the battered armchair he'd rescued from _god knows where_ despite everyone's insistence that he could just as easily buy one that didn't look like it had at one point had raccoons living in it. “If it isn't the sharpest shooter in the East.”

“Don't.” Olli cringed, “I feel bad enough as it is.”

Till lay on his back on the table, a sheet covering most of his chest and a pillow now behind his head, looking much more comfortable than he had when Richard had left the room. He looked pale, but certainly less deathly now. Both him and Olli inched closer to the table nervously.

“It's alright, he's going to be out until morning – I gave him a little something to make sure of that, so he doesn't wake up, freak out and decide to start torching things with a collapsed lung.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.” Olli agreed, moving closer to where Flake was sitting while Richard silently pulled up a chair next to the table and grasped Till's hand where it rested at his side. He looked like he was about to start crying again and that made Olli feel like the worst piece of shit on the planet. It was weird, he could wave guns in people's faces and kick a poor bank security guard until he pissed his pants and not feel one jot of guilt but when it came to his crew, upsetting someone would keep him awake at night.

“You alright?” Flake looked up at him, kicking at his leg lightly with his foot.

Olli shrugged, looking over at Richard who was talking quietly to Till just out of earshot.

“What happened up there?” Flake persisted, getting up and walking to his desk, opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a bottle of bourbon, two glasses and a glass measuring beaker. He poured out three generous measures and offered one over to Richard, who took it gratefully, then handed one to Olli, keeping the beaker for himself. It was the closest thing to a third glass he had without having to go to the kitchen, and he wasn't entirely sure what he'd used it for so it only seemed polite not to make anyone else use it. He dropped back down in his seat and nodded. “Go on.”

Olli shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

“If Schneider was infected, you'd say something right? You wouldn't just... let him loose outside without telling us?”

“ _What_?” Flake looked utterly baffled and potentially insulted by the question. “No. Obviously, I wouldn't do that. Why?”

“Then what happened was that I lost my fucking mind up there, clearly.” Olli frowned morosely, knocking back the rest of his Bourbon. He gestured at the bottle and Flake let him help himself to another. “I saw him out there in that group. I know I didn't, but I _did_ , you know? He was _right fucking there._ ” He sighed, looking down at his glass as he swirled the brown liquid around a little. “I think I must have had a panic attack or something. I tried to shake it off and get back behind the rifle but when I did...” He glanced over at Till guiltily. “I thought I was doing okay, but evidently not.”

Flake reached over and patted his arm sympathetically. “Look, if it's any consolation it could have been worse. You managed to avoid that big dumb head of his and that's a mercy at least.”

“It couldn't have been _much_ worse.” Olli said grimly. “Reesh said it was a collapsed lung?”

“I actually didn't think you'd hit anything important until that happened – I think the bullet just must have nicked it. Look, you don't need to hear the gory details, it'll only make you feel even worse and I'm pretty sure you've got it bad enough as it is. Just know that he's stable now and I'm pretty sure I can keep the old banger running.” He reassured him with a smirk.

“You know, I can keep an eye on him if you wanted to go and rest.” Richard looked over his shoulder. “I can call you if anything happens.”

Flake wasn't sure he liked the idea of leaving them in case anything _did_ happen, but he sensed that Richard wanted some space. “Are you sure? Because honestly, I think I'm going to pass out in this chair if I don't go to bed soon unless somebody's got some speed stashed away somewhere.”

“Reesh?” asked with a smirk.

“Fuck off, Olli.”

“Alright, well as long as you're sure. Any rattling, choking or he decides to stop breathing again, you shout for me.”

“I'm sure. Guess it's about time I returned the favour, eh?”

Flake squeezed Richard's shoulder and tiredly left the room. Olli finished his drink and grabbed the bottle of bourbon off the desk and placed it next to Richard. “Just in case you need it. Night Reesh.”

“Yeah, thanks. Night.” He waved slightly, then folded his arms on the edge of the table, resting his chin on top of them. He'd probably end up having to prop his eyelids open to stay awake all night, but he owed Till this at least. His was the first face he saw when he woke up after the _incident_ with his hand, and as he later found out, had stayed there for the best part of two days, just to make sure he was alright.

Till shifted slightly where he lay and grunted with discomfort, but didn't wake any further.

“Well,” Richard smirked slightly before it turned into a yawn. “What a riveting conversation, this is.”

* * *

Olli was about to head back to bed but he paused in the corridor, apparently not done with torturing himself for one evening, and walked down the corridor that led to the utility room. Usually, two shots wouldn't touch the sides but first of all they were Flake measures and secondly, he'd belatedly realised that he hadn't eaten all day so he'd ended up just the right side of tipsy. Once he reached the door, he slid onto the floor with his back against it, the corridor narrow enough that he could actually touch the other side with his feet, so he ended up propping them up against it in an awkward way that his back wouldn't forgive him for in the morning.

“Hey,” He drummed on the door lightly with his knuckles, not sure if he could even be heard through its reinforced structure. He turned his head and pressed his ear to the door, but there was nothing but silence on the other side. His foot tapped nervously against the wall, his imagination once again needling persistently at his psyche. “You better come out of there in one piece, you know.” He warned, voice slightly distorted by the joint he'd retrieved from his pocket and just placed between his lips. He clicked the lighter several times before it finally sparked, then took a slightly shaky breath, the rolled paper wobbling between his fingers. “It's fucking me up already, and that's with you still here. Least, I hope you're still here.” His throat burned and his eyes stung and he was still lying to himself that it was the smoke even though there was nobody else there to give a shit. He sniffed slightly and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand ( _hey, at least it wasn't his sleeve_ , he figured) and folded one arm around his middle in search of some kind of comfort. “I mean, you're a pain in the arse and all but it seems that it's a pain I can't do without.”

On the other side of the door, Schneider slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. The next chapter may possibly be a flashback. We shall seeee...


	7. Give You The Gun, Blow Me Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olli makes a decision, Schneider isn't happy about it.

“Flake?” Olli poked his head around the basement door, and Flake peered up at him over the top of the book he was reading, his gangly legs propped up on his desk. “Hallo.” He waved, entering the room whether Flake wanted him to or not.

“Why do all of you have the same face when you want something?” Flake tutted, putting his book down with a slap. “Go on, then. What is it?”

“I need a favour.”

“Knew it.”

“I need you to let me into the utility room.”

“Olli-” Flake started to argue because he'd like to have just one day where his friends didn't fling themselves head-first into self-destruction.

“ _Please_ , Flake. I can't be out here not knowing any more. I'm losing my fucking head... No good to fucking anyone – you saw what I did!” Olli pleaded, pulling up a chair and sitting on the opposite side of the desk.

“It's a fucking _quarantine_.” Flake insisted. “It's not much of one if everyone is going to be marching in and out of there!”

“Look, if it turns out he's infected then I'll handle it. I know we've done some fucked up things over the years but you look me in the eye and tell me you think he deserves to die alone, locked in a fucking cupboard.” Olli's eyes were wide and pleading, praying his impassioned speech might appeal to Flake's softer side – he had to have one in there somewhere, right?

“It's not about what I think he _deserves_ , Ol.” Flake dragged his legs off the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on it instead. “If he's infected, my duty is to everyone else in this building who isn't.”

“I'm not asking you to put anyone else in danger. I'd never do that.” He shook his head.

“Just you.”

“But isn't that my choice to make?” He asked, and Flake sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe there had been a breakthrough.

“Till will fucking murder me.” He groaned.

“I don't think he's in a position to murder anyone right now, do you? Besides, best case scenario we'll both be out of there before he's back on his feet. Quarantine ends tomorrow night, right?”

Flake let out a frustrated noise and then rose to his feet.

“Fine. Come on.” He cocked his head towards the utility room door, signalling for Olli to follow. Before he tapped in the keycode on the door, he turned back to him. “You swear to me right now – if he's infected, you'll take care of it. None of this fucking Romeo and Juliet nonsense.”

“I'll handle it.” He nodded, lifting up the hem of his hoodie to reveal a handgun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “You have my word.”

Flake nodded, satisfied with the answer and tapped in the door code, pulling open the door just enough to let Olli slide through the gap, and closed it firmly behind him, not sure if he'd just made a huge mistake but unable to deny Olli's right to get himself eaten if that's really what he wanted to do.

On the other side of the door, Olli cautiously approached the mound of blankets on the floor, not sure quite what to do – so he nudged at it with his foot, his hand hovering over the gun and praying he wouldn't have to use it.

“Hm?” A voice croaked, then the blanket was slowly tugged downwards to reveal a pale, clammy looking face and red eyes. Olli jumped back, but then he spoke. “Olli, what the fuck?”

“Oh fuck me, I thought you'd gone.” Olli gasped with relief, pressing a hand to his chest. He sighed, sitting down on the floor opposite. “I got Flake to let me in.”

“I _told_ you, you have to stay out of here!” He insisted, torn between wanting to jump on him and slap him for being so bloody stupid. “I'm _sick_ , Olli. You know what that means.”

“It might not mean anything!” He argued, “Besides, I'm not allowed out, now.”

“For _fuck's_ sake!” Schneider groaned, planting his face in his pillow. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“Look, I couldn't stay out there wondering if you were in there, turning into one of those things. It was driving me crazy.” He didn't think it wise to burden him with _exactly how crazy_ right then.

“So, you decided to come in here and drive me crazy instead?” He asked, voice muffled by the pillow. “I mean, you could have just let me die in peace but noooo..”

“Don't be dramatic,” Olli said, nudging Schneider's leg with his foot.

“I'm not _being_ dramatic, Olli!” He argued, finally turning his head and fixing Olli with a glare. “Did it not occur to you that maybe I don't want turn into _one of those things_ and take you down with me? That maybe I don't want that to be the last thing on my conscience?”

“Christoph,” Olli said quietly.

“No!” He finally sat up, duvet pulled up to his shoulders. “I don't _want_ you to be here for this. I-” He paused, suddenly turning a shade paler if that was possible. “Oh, shit.” He quickly dived out from under the blanket and scrambled almost on all fours to the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before violently throwing up what little he had in his stomach, retching painfully when that was all gone. He groaned, grimacing as his cold, damp t-shirt clung to his back. Laying his arm across the seat, not feeling safe to move, he rested his forehead against it and closed his eyes, waiting for his stomach to stop trying to force something out that was no longer there.

Olli walked to the sink and got him a glass of water, crouching down next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder, only for it to be shrugged away. Schneider was grateful his face was hidden, that way he couldn't see the hurt look on Olli's face when he did it.

“I just.. I got you a drink.” It was a shame he could hear it in his voice, instead.

“Thanks.” He croaked.

“How long have you been like this?” Olli asked, deciding to sit cross-legged on the floor for his own comfort because he got the feeling Schneider wouldn't be moving for a while.

“Yesterday. Least I think it was yesterday.” He said roughly, rubbing the sweat from his forehead with his arm. “Kind of lost track of time.”

Olli noticed the cut on his arm that had put him in quarantine in the first place. It was red, angry and he couldn't deny that it looked infected. Which meant that the antibiotics hadn't been working. A day or so would have shown some improvement if they were. He reluctantly allowed himself to acknowledge that and it felt like something deep in his chest cracked a little.

“I just.. can't keep anything down. A little water, that's it.” Schneider explained, his mouth filling with saliva, forcing him to spit into the toilet with a slight groan of discomfort. “I can't stop sweating, but I'm so _fucking_ cold and _everything hurts_. Olli... if this gets worse, I don't know how much more I can take.”

“Schneider, don't-”

“Please tell me you didn't come in here unarmed.” He sniffed, “Please tell me you're not that stupid.”

“If something happens, I can handle it,” Olli said simply, refusing to say what exactly he'd brought with him because he got the feeling Schneider was getting some crazy ideas in his head.

“No.” He said forcefully. “You need to handle it _before_ it gets to that, right? Or if you can't do that when you give whatever you've got to me and I will.”

“I can deal with it, Christoph.” He said firmly. “Because it sounds to me like you're thinking of doing something really fucking stupid. You're still here, you need to give yourself a little more time!”

“I don't think I _have_ that much time, Olli!” He half-shouted, smacking his hand against the floor to emphasise his point. “And you need to learn to sit with that before it kills you, too. Before _I_ kill you, too.” His tone softened a little. “You're going to have to know when to give up.”

Olli leaned back against the wall and stretched his legs out in front of him before his feet started going to sleep. His jaw tightened and there was a long moment before he trusted his voice enough to speak. “I can do that. I promise you I will, but not yet.” He swallowed thickly, his voice wavering and a dull ache pulling in the middle of his chest. “If I can do that for you then you can at least give me a little time to say goodbye.”

Schneider's eyes screwed shut and he dug his nails into his palm. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid, He didn't want to have to see the damage him dying would cause Olli. He'd inflicted a lot of pain over the years on a lot of people but he'd never had to stick around to see the aftermath, never even gave it a second thought, though he supposed he wouldn't see it this time, either. Just that little break in Olli's voice, though. _That_ guilt was enough to crush him. He almost regretted letting this go as far as he had with Olli Things were so much simpler back when they used to just mess around but over fifteen years, there was no way things could carry on so casually. He supposed they'd both known it. For a time he'd convinced himself that they could, though. Somehow Olli had managed to crack him, burrow deep under his skin until they became inseparable. The rest of them knew, he knew that, but admitting it to them meant he had to admit it to himself. The whole point of him joining the military years ago was the idea, his _father's_ idea, that it would 'straighten him out'. Evidently, that hadn't worked out but even now, he had the lingering feeling of fear of punishment if he ever vocalised how he really felt.

Silently, he sat up and shakily took the glass of water, sipping at it a couple of times before carefully getting to his feet. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers slightly. “Come on.”

Olli took his hand and let Schneider pull him through to the utility room and gesturing for him to sit down, which he did. Grabbing the blanket, he nudged Olli's long legs apart and situated himself between them, curling up against his chest. Olli, feeling safe that Schneider wasn't about to do anything stupid right then, wrapped his arm around his back and held him close, nuzzling against the top of his head, the natural waves of his gunk-free mohawk tickling his skin.

It wasn't that Schneider didn't want to talk to Olli, knew he had to if he was running out of time, but he just couldn't verbalise everything on his mind because he'd never had to before. Never _wanted_ to. Just hoped that Olli would _know_. Now all of it just sat on his tongue, threatening to choke him. He felt dampness slide into the short re-growth at the back of his head and he searched for something to say.

“I do love you, you know?” He finally spoke, figuring that maybe if he started talking the rest of it would come. “I think... maybe for longer than I realised. Long before everything happened with.. you know.” He frowned, still not quite able to make himself say the girl's name. It wasn't her fault, he knew that, but he liked it better when he could pretend the whole situation had never happened. “Maybe I should have said something then, but – I'm not like Richard, I can't just _say things_.”

Olli smiled at that. Schneider felt the slight movement of his lips against his scalp. Simple as it was, it eased him a little.

“I think if you were like Richard I would have strangled you by now.” Olli said, “And I do know. I think I speak fluent Schneider at this point. Most of the time, anyway.” He sniffed slightly. “And I love you, too. Which is exactly why this is so fucking hard. I didn't come in here to hurt you or make you feel guilty... I just thought after all this time, we've been through everything else together – why should this be any different?”

Schneider's chest hurt, and this time it wasn't from the sickness. That utter _bastard_. There he was, trying to get the other man to let go far enough to be able to shoot him in the head and he's saying things _like that_. He'd consider himself lucky if it wasn't for the whole dying thing because God knows, he didn't deserve someone like Olli.

Olli turned his head and cleared his throat, giving Schneider ample time to bury his face in the crook of Olli's neck affectionately. He wasn't good at saying things, but he'd always been much better at _doing_.

“You should rest,” Olli advised him quietly. “I'll keep an eye on you.”

“Mhm.” Schneider nodded tiredly, actually feeling comfortable enough to sleep for the first time in days. “Hey.” He tapped him on the chest firmly. “If something happens – you do what needs to be done. Swear to me.”

Olli winced but nodded his head all the same.

“I swear.”

* * *

After Till had remained stable overnight, Flake and Richard had managed to get Till awake and on his feet just long enough to get him into his bedroom before giving him another dose of painkillers that had him snoring within minutes. Keeping him at rest seemed to be the most logical thing to do at the time - if he was awake, he'd only be up trying to do things because he could never keep still for long, and even if there was nothing to be done he'd find something. The truth was, with the herd outside dealt with, everything seemed to be sort of suspended in time. They'd kept the TV on, but they didn't hear any more from the people who had broadcast from the city. The house felt like a bubble where everything had just _stopped_.

Richard had decided to stay in Till's room once he was settled, figuring he could be the first line of defence once he woke up. There was a sofa in there, only it was buried under a pile of clothes and, as Richard discovered, a huge wad of money from who-knows-where. He scolded the unconscious man, putting the money in a drawer and dumping the clothes in a laundry basket before dropping onto it and putting his feet up, lighting a cigarette and using a discarded Coke can as an ashtray. Till wouldn't appreciate him smoking in his room, but he wasn't awake to know about it so it was _fine_.

The door opened and Flake appeared, holding two mugs of coffee. He placed one on the floor by Richard's head and knocked his legs off the couch so he could sit down.

“Hey! I would have moved...”

“Not fast enough,” Flake smirked, putting the too-hot drink down by his feet while Richard grumpily re-situated himself. He nodded at the can and smirked. “You're going to get in trouble.”

“What he doesn't know, he can't complain about.” Richard shrugged. “Besides, this is very stressful. I think I can be forgiven just this once.”

“You really should quit, you know,” Flake advised, although really he was purely saying it to wind Richard up. “They'll kill you in the end.”

“What _isn't_ trying to kill us these days, _Herr Doktor_?” He asked, “These, or those fucking things” He gestured at the window. “And fuck knows what else is out there! Rabid dogs, probably!”

“Good point.” Flake chuckled. He looked contemplative, chewing his bottom lip before speaking again. “I think... I might have done something a bit stupid.”

“What?” Richard asked, stuffing his burnt-out filter into the hole in the top of the can.

“Olli came downstairs and asked me to let him into the utility room... so I did.”

“ _What_?!” Richard hissed, really hoping Till hadn't heard that. “Well, I'll tell you now there's no 'might have' about it! What if Schneider's sick? What if we lose both of them?”

“I know all that.” Flake grimaced. “But he was a liability out here, he was going to end up hurting himself or someone else even worse than he already has because his brain isn't here. It's locked up in the basement. He made the point that taking that risk should be his choice - not ours, and tell me, is he wrong?”

Richard sighed, brow furrowing slightly.

“If it was Till down there, would _you_ want him to be alone?”

He shook his head silently, the thought alone painful enough. He smiled slightly, nudging Flake's arm. “Ah, that explains it all. You're secretly an old romantic.”

“Well, he might have to shoot Schneider in the head so... not all that romantic, really.” He said, picking up his drink. “But I believe Olli has every right to make his own stupid decisions and if nothing else, I believe in free will.”

“Jesus Christ, Flake.” Richard laughed and hid his face in his hands. “I mean, you could have just said yes.”

“I mean, it _is_ nice that those two idiots found each other, I suppose.” Flake reasoned, “Christ knows nobody else would put up with them – but it is nice. In a way.”

“Although technically, we don't know about it. Technically.” Richard pointed out.

“Well if Schneider was so intent on keeping it a secret, someone should have told him to keep the fucking noise down.” Flake pursed his lips slightly. “Noisy little bastard. Why do you think I moved rooms?!”

“Well, now you've said it, makes perfect sense.”

“So, what's the situation with you and him, then?” Flake asked, cocking his head towards Till. “I wouldn't ordinarily ask you understand, but I am _unbelievably bored._.”

Richard snorted and shook his head. “Well it's nice that you're taking an interest, I suppose. And... I don't know. Let's be honest, when have I ever known?”

“Well, you don't know much in most situations so that's not surprising,” Flake smirked.

“Fuck off.” He chuckled, picking up his own mug now it was cool enough to drink. “Nothing was happening at all for a long time. I thought things were good for a while, after that whole situation with Anders – although, with hindsight, I think maybe I was reading too much into it and he was just playing along to make sure I didn't fall back into bad habits.”

“I'm sure that wasn't it.” Flake shook his head. “That guy doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, you know that.”

“I'm not so sure. I think he just thought I needed stability to keep myself on the straight and narrow. Thought he was doing me a favour.” Richard shrugged. “But, favour or not it was something so I didn't question it. Either way, it was nice while it lasted but before long the fights started again. Things got too intense, and he was done.”

“You weren't done, I take it.”

“I don't think I ever will be, honestly.” He said, casting a sad glance in the direction of the bed. “But it is what it is.”

“Well, I was after gossip but instead you've depressed the fuck out of me, so thanks for that.”

“You're welcome.” Richard grinned against his coffee cup, but his eyes said something else, staring straight ahead. “Welcome to the last fifteen or so years of my life, my friend.”

Flake attempted to find something comforting to say to that but found himself coming up short. He thought he'd been saved by the bell when Paul walked in but that idea was out of the window when he asked;

“Have either of you two seen Olli?”

Richard's eyes darted between the two of them, knowing Flake was about to get himself a verbal arse-kicking for giving in to Olli's noble pleas to his better nature.

“I'll let you answer that one, Flake.”


	8. Damage Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reesh and Till have a conversation they probably should have had a long time ago.

A loud coughing sound jolted Richard awake who had, at some point after Flake and Paul had left to argue somewhere Till couldn't hear, fallen asleep on the couch. Till was struggling to sit himself up and reach for the glass of water beside the bed. Richard was immediately on his feet, helping him to sit back against the pillows and handing him the water once he was settled. Till took a couple of sips and winced at the slight tearing sensation in his chest, deeply uncomfortable with the fact that he couldn't quite get a full breath in.

“What time is it?” Till grunted, noticing that it was dark outside.

“You're asking the wrong person. I haven't looked at a clock in days.” He said, perching on the edge of the bed. “Early hours, if I had to guess. How are you doing?”

“Sore.” He grumbled tersely, not much of a talker when he'd just woken up at the best of times, let alone right then. “What shit did Flake give me?” He asked, inspecting the cannula that had been left in the back of his hand for the sake of ease if he needed another dose. “I feel hungover.”

“Well, the whole being shot thing might have something to do with it.” He noted.

“I'm assuming you didn't murder Olli.” He said with a slight smirk.

“I might have hit him. Slightly.” He scratched the back of his head and shifted awkwardly. “But we're fine now.”

“ _Reesh_.” Till groaned, closing his eyes.

“Look, when I walked out of that basement, Paul and Flake were trying to get you breathing again so forgive me for not being rational, alright?” He said, eyes on the floor. “Turns out, he wasn't having a great time up there himself. He didn't even realise he'd hit anyone until he saw us bringing you inside – so I feel plenty bad about it without you rubbing it in, thank you very much.”

“So it's settled now?” Till asked cautiously.

“It's done.” He nodded. “Anyway, stop worrying about what the rest of us are doing and get healed up instead. Do you need me to get you anything?” He wanted to steer the conversation away from Olli if he could help it, he'd only end up letting it slip that there was a second of their number locked in the utility room.

“Vodka.” Till grinned. “And don't change the subject. You shouldn't be so impulsive, it only gets you into trouble.”

“Tell me about it.” Richard scoffed, offering Till a weary look. “Look, I'm going to go and get something to eat so what do you want? Soft drinks only before you ask. I heard Vodka the first time and chose to ignore it.”

“Donuts.” He answered immediately. He hadn't pestered Richard for them in far too long and if he was going to be forced to stay in bed, he needed an incentive. “Please, Reesh.”

“Every time! You always get me with the doughnuts!” He threw his hands up and got up. “Fine. But only because you nearly died. And whatever is in the fridge probably needs using, anyway – but don't think you can get me waiting on you hand and foot forever!”

Till laughed as he left but almost instantly regretted it when the pain in his chest resurfaced. “And drugs!” He shouted hoarsely after him, hoping that he might hear and get Flake to cough up something that might ease it. Tiredly, he slouched, one arm resting across his chest protectively. Just the fact that he was confined to the bed made his mind restless, he always felt like he should be doing _something_. Then there was the concern that something could happen outside and he'd be too weak to do his part, and that _terrified_ him. He had to get all of them through this, whatever was coming – this was no time for being incapacitated. Thankfully, his body knew better than his mind and it only felt like a blink between Richard leaving and returning, balancing a tray across his arms holding a cafetiere, two mugs and a plate of fried, sugar and cinnamon-dusted doughnuts, the scent of which had Till immediately awake again.

Carefully, he lowered the tray onto the bedside table and placed the plate on Till's lap with a smile.

“Don't say I never do anything for you.” He said, hopping onto the side of the bed Till wasn't occupying and getting comfortable. Immediately, he lit a cigarette.

“Hey.” Till tapped his arm.

“Donuts!” He pointed at the plate, “And I'm gracing you with my delightful company, so can put up with this. For once.”

“Fine. For once.” He reluctantly agreed although he knew it wouldn't be 'for once' at all. It never was. “What's everyone else up to?”

“Asleep.” He answered quickly. “Well, except Flake. He said to give you these.” He pulled out a blister pack of tablets and placed them next to Till. “Two every four hours. He says you can manage to take them if you can manage to eat doughnuts. He's saving the injectables for emergencies.”

“Probably wise.” He agreed, trusting Flake to know the inventory of supplies they had better than anyone, seeing as he acquired most of it. “Could do with taking this out, though.” He lifted his hand.

“Oh, yeah. He says I can do it.” He said, with a slight note of mischief in his eyes. “Just need to tape a little dressing on it for a few hours once it's out and it'll be fine.”

“I don't like the look you got on your face when you said that,” Till said warily, tearing a large chunk out of one of the still-warm doughnuts and stuffing it into his mouth. “Not allowed to injure me any more.” He mumbled.

“I'm a good nurse, I promise,” Richard swore, but wasn't particularly reassuring about it.

“You're a better chef.” Till said, “These things are fucking incredible.”

“Well, it's good to know I'm useful for something.” He grinned, getting up and retrieving the ashtray/can he'd been using earlier before returning to the bed, flicking the long stem of ash that had formed at the end of the cigarette and was threatening to drop onto the bedclothes.

“You're useful for a great many things. I've told you this plenty of times.” Till said, popping out a couple of the pills and washing them down with water. “It's only you that doesn't believe it.”

“Not yesterday, I wasn't,” Richard said, shaking his head. “Paul and Flake did all the work while I stood there having a nervous breakdown. No help at all.”

“But what could you have done? Those two are the most experienced medics – they know what they're doing.” Till reassured him, offering him the doughnut plate. Richard stared at it for a moment before deciding to extinguish his cigarette and take one of them instead. “I don't understand why you're so hard on yourself all the time.”

“Christ. That's a loaded statement. How long have you got?” He scoffed, taking a bite out of the doughnut. They were pretty fucking spectacular, even he had to admit. He was also glad that he'd made a batch and left them downstairs because there was no way these ones were going to last.

“I've got time,” Till said in all seriousness, and Richard raised an eyebrow.

“Or maybe you should concentrate on getting well rather than listening to me drone on, hm?” He said, turning to push down the plunger on the cafetiere and pouring them both a cup.

“I mean it.” Till insisted. “We used to talk a _lot_ , you and I. These days? Not so much. Now seems like a good time.”

Richard closed his eyes and sighed, because there was a very good reason for that, and he felt like Till already knew it. He couldn't be that oblivious, could he? Returning his expression to neutral, he turned around and handed Till his drink before getting settled back in with his own. “Fine, but we don't need to talk about _that_.” He said with a frown. He just wanted to keep Till company, not have to spill his guts.

“Alright, but you know I'll get it out of you eventually. I always do.” He said, sipping at his drink.

Richard huffed sulkily, but only because he knew he was right.

“Did we manage to clear that herd outside before Olli's little mistake?” He asked, opting to start with something easy.

“Yeah, I think so. There might be a few stragglers out there but most of them got themselves completely fucking toasted. Smells disgusting out there now, though.” He grimaced, “Fucking things could at least have the decency to smell like cooked bacon but no, just... whatever-the-fuck that stench out there is.”

“God,” Till's eyes widened. “What if we have to start stealing animals again? Like that fucking cow..”

“Oh, no. No. I'm not doing that again. I'll eat all the instant noodles in the world before I do that again.” Richard shook his head vigorously.

“Come on. It was funny.” Till smirked.

“Stealing it was funny. It was the bit after I wasn't keen on.” He said with a cringe. Two complete idiots who had no idea what they were doing, attempting to slaughter a cow was every bit as messy as you'd expect, and once the cow had gone – he wasn't going to let it go to waste after all that effort – he didn't eat meat for two months after. He still had nightmares about the noise, sometimes.

“Well, I'm just saying. The supplies here are only going to last so long. We're going to have to get creative.”

“Well, _I'm_ just saying that if Olli had done a better job of shooting you, I'd put you on that grill quicker than I'd go hunting for cows,” Richard smirked, continuing to pick at a doughnut.

“Jesus!” Till laughed before wincing at the pain it caused. “Well, as you said, it's nice to be useful, I suppose.”

“Isn't it? You could feed us for a month!”

“Would probably be like eating an old boot, though.” Till pointed out, turning his heavily scarred arm back and forth.

“Well, beggars can't be choosers, can they? I think a couple of hours in a slow cooker would sort that right out.” Richard shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “For what it's worth, I'm glad Olli decided to be a shit shot for once. I can't really think of anyone else I'd rather spend the end of the world with.”

“Careful,” Till jokingly warned. “You're getting very close to sounding sentimental.”

“Hm.” Richard huffed, and a cigarette seemingly just appeared in his hand in the space of time that it took Till to blink. He lit it and stretched his legs out again, getting comfortable. “Thanks for the warning.” He nodded because he couldn't remember a time when getting sentimental about Till didn't lead to trouble. Another addiction to add to the list, he supposed. He'd sworn off falling back into that particular habit a long time ago now, but much like the others, it wouldn't take much to make him slip. That was the trouble, they were so perfectly compatible in some ways but so diametrically opposed in others and that meant whatever-it-was between them burned fast and violent until neither of them could stand it, having to step away before the damage was permanent. Richard supposed he should have learned his lesson by that point, but then he never was much of an academic. “Have those pills helped any?” He asked, changing the subject.

“A little.” Till shrugged. “Think they helped more, though.” He gestured at the nearly empty plate between them.

“I mean, if any doughnut was going to have medicinal qualities, it would be those.” He agreed, looking slightly smug.

“Are you sure you didn't throw Olli's stash in there?” Till asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I would tell you if I had.” He said firmly. He wished he could say it wasn't from personal experience but he was vehemently opposed to giving anyone drugs without their knowledge, as anyone should be. Even criminals had to have _some_ standards.

“I know, I'm only joking,” Till assured him, reaching over and squeezing his arm playfully. Richard wished something so simple didn't still make his nerves tingle as much as it did. “Have you been in here the whole time I've been out?”

Richard nodded. “Someone needed to keep an eye on you. Figured I owed you one.” He shrugged a little. “Only took fifteen years to return the favour.”

“ _Fifteen?_ ” Till repeated, eyes wide. “God, we're so old.”

“Hey, you take that back,” Richard ordered. “I prefer to think of it as _seasoned_.”

“ _Well_ seasoned.” He snorted. “Although at least I had the decency to wake up faster. _Two days_ , Reesh. Talk about keeping us all in suspense. Had me scared for a while, there.”

“I'm sure you would have coped.” Richard smiled slightly. Despite reassurances, to that day he was never quite sure if he was a part of the group for what he could do or because even when they were fighting neither one of them could ever quite let go of the other. He was surer of the fact that it was possible to love someone and absolutely despise them all at the same time than anything else.

Till hummed thoughtfully, because he wasn't as certain of that statement as Richard seemed to be. He'd had plenty of time to ponder it in that hospital and any scenario that played out in his mind without him in it left a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. “There you go again. underestimating your importance.” He said gruffly. “It's a bad habit.”

“I've got a lot of those.” He gave Till a sideways glance. “You know that better than anyone.”

“I'm assuming I count as one of them,” Till said, that small look telling him all he needed to know on the subject.

“Well. You said it.” Richard shrugged, blowing smoke upwards towards the ceiling, focusing on it curling and twisting around the lights bolted into it.

“I'm not that bad, am I?” He asked, slightly fearful of the answer.

“Sometimes.” He turned to look at him, then. “I mean, you always point out when I'm _underestimating my importance_ but you never seem to consider why that might be, do you? It never crosses your mind that-” He paused, shaking his head. “No. I'm not getting into this. I'm here to make sure you don't die, not.. do _this_.” He waved his hand between them.

“What doesn't cross my mind?” He insisted, eyes wide. “You can't just leave that hanging, Reesh.”

“I can and I will,” Richard said quite petulantly, folding his arms to illustrate the point.

“When have I ever?” He asked, clearly not willing to let it go.

Richard's nose wrinkled. He didn't want to get into it but god damn if Till wasn't pushing his buttons to get it out of him.

“I have never said you're not important.” Till huffed, starting to feel terribly indignant about it.

“No, you never _said_ it.” Richard finally snapped. “Maybe actions speak louder than words in this case, hm? How many times did you fuck off for days without a word, then come back as if nothing happened, and just expect me to be fine with it? How many times did I have to watch you all over someone.. apparently _anyone_ except me, and then have you expect me just to shrug it off?”

Till sighed, really he should have seen where this was headed. “You knew what you were getting into, Richard. Don't pretend that you didn't know me before.” He rolled his eyes. This conversation had been had before, but usually got way out of control before any agreement could be reached, always ending in shoving and slammed doors. The fact that they were both sober this time was a plus. “This is why things never work with us. We clearly want very different things and you _really_ don't like to share.”

“All I want, just once, is to feel like I'm enough,” Richard argued, teeth gritted and a slight quake in his voice. “But I never will be for you, will I?”

“That isn't- For God's sake, Reesh.” Till pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know I don't do well at staying in one place for too long. I am.. a lot. It wouldn't be fair to expect you to cater to every single urge I have.”

“You didn't even _ask_.” Richard said, exasperated. “You just disappear and leave me to wonder what it was that I did wrong, and then you've got the balls to ask me why I don't think I'm worth anything!”

“I never meant for-”

“I know, Till. I _know_.” He sighed, “That's the problem. You don't even realise you're doing it most of the time. You think you're saving me from something when you're just-” He paused, shaking his head. “Look, none of this really matters now, does it? Like you said yourself, things never work with us. I could be the last person on earth and you'd still be looking out for something better.” He sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and moving to get up. “I'm pretty sure you're good now, so I'm going to go to bed.” He was too tired for this. Dredging up everything all over again after he'd spent a good length of time trying to distance himself from the feelings it brought up was making his throat tight and his stomach hurt. What he needed to do was pick up a bottle of vodka and get it out of his system in the privacy of his own room. He went to push himself up with his good arm but a large hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Wait.” Till ordered more than asked, knowing Richard couldn't push himself away with his other hand. It was unfair, really. “Don't go. _Please_.”

Richard's shoulders slouched and he wished he wasn't so quick to give in. “I _said_ I didn't want to talk about it. It's hard enough without bringing it all up again.”

“You still feel the same?” Till asked cautiously, honestly not sure what he wanted the answer to be. If it was yes, then Richard had been carrying that around alone for a long time now and had been doing a really good job of hiding it from him. That idea was already making him feel guilty. The other option was that he didn't, which meant things really were over this time and he wasn't keen on that, either. If he said no, then the spark of _one day, maybe_ that lingered in the back of his mind was truly dead. Of course, he'd told himself that it was better for them both to keep things platonic, only now he was realising that it wasn't better for him. It was easier, and less complicated for sure – he didn't have to _be better_ , that way. Clearly, it wasn't better for Richard either, and it was only just dawning on him that yet again, in an attempt to keep him from harm he'd only done even more damage. The silence lingered until Till persisted. “ _Scholle._ ”

“Don't.” Richard closed his eyes. “Don't try and get around me with pet names and bullshit.”

“I want to know,” Till said quietly, and Richard could feel weight shifting on the mattress behind him.

“Why? So you can keep your distance some more?” He turned sharply, not realising quite how close Till would be when he did. He gasped slightly, then continued. “What do you want me to say, Till? Yes, I still feel the same because I'm some kind of fucking masochist who can't let go of a man who has left me, _humiliated_ me,” His eyes were burning now but his voice was full of rage, mostly at himself for letting Till reduce him to this _yet again_. “Has broken my heart more times than I can _fucking_ count. Yes, I do. Happy now?”

Till was going to say 'no' but had the sense to say nothing to avoid making Richard any angrier if that were possible. He wished he could say he didn't know he'd done all that, but he did. He just chose to ignore it. Told himself that Richard understood how he was and dealt with it accordingly, but deep down he knew.

“I'm sorry,” Till said earnestly, sitting down just to Richard's side, unsure whether to put an arm out to comfort him, fearful that it would be shrugged away. “I've treated you terribly over the years. You don't have to forgive me, or even believe me, but I have done some... terrible things over the years but I regret that more than any of them.”

“Sure,” Richard said, the anger gone from his voice and leaving him sounding tired and broken.

“Hey,” He reached over despite the discomfort and curved his hand around Richard's jaw, urging him to turn around which he eventually, reluctantly did. His chest ached at the glassy, red-eyed slightly hollow stare that met his and he swiped the pad of his thumb over one damp cheekbone. “I love you, Reesh..”

“ _Stop it._.” Richard said, voice hardly more than a whisper. “Stop telling me things I want to hear because you think it'll make me feel better for a while so you can stop feeling guilty.”

“I mean it.” Till insisted, and he did. He always had – the trouble he had was in translating that outside of his head. Real relationships were daunting. They always led to heartbreak in the end, regardless of how that end comes about. He always felt the need to ruin things before they got to that point. The problem was that in trying to save himself from that inevitability, he never stopped to think if Richard was already too far gone to avoid it. “If I could start everything again, be what you deserve, then I'd go back and do it in a second.”

“This isn't fair.” Richard shook his head, trying to squirm out of Till's grip but finding himself held fast. Wide, sad eyes pierced through him and he refused to look. If he looked he was _done_. Everything he wanted was being dangled in front of him, just out of his reach, but making that jump meant the risk of plummeting. Certain death. “I can't do this again.”

Slowly, Till withdrew his hands and nodded his head. It hurt, but he understood. The fact that he looked to be choked up himself coming as something of a surprise to Richard. Probably the meds, he thought. That didn't change the fact that it still felt cold when he pulled away. Till eased himself back onto 'his' side of the bed, laying back against the pillows and closing his eyes.

“I can still stay. If you want me to.” Richard said over his shoulder. He knew it wasn't one of his better ideas, that he should just go back to his room, but that _pull_ was still there.

“I'd like that.” Till agreed, Richard shifted back to where he'd been sitting before, dimming the lights slightly and then sliding down under the blankets until he was laying on his back.

Eyes still closed, Till's hand moved across the mattress, finding Richard's hand and lacing their fingers together. That simple touch was enough to finally crack Richard. His chest jerked with a choked, miserable sound and his arm covered his eyes, tears sliding into the hair at his temples. He hated the fact that he could be reduced to this. It was utterly humiliating. It felt like being a kid again, begging for someone, _anyone_ to hold him until it stopped hurting. Only in this instance, someone actually wanted to.

“Come here,” Till said, tugging his hand gently.

Richard shook his head but another insistent squeeze and he relented, letting himself be pulled against Till's side. He sniffed, hiding his face against his chest while experienced hands rubbed the back of his neck soothingly. Ironic that the one place he could find comfort was the same place he knew he should have been trying to get away from. The thought made him shudder and before he knew it he was sobbing helplessly, scarcely able to hear the words being murmured into his hair. The cadence was soothing, he could tell that much.

Above him, Till frowned guiltily. Richard never usually let him see the results of his betrayals, of the poor treatment, but now it was laid bare and it bore into him deeper than the bullet could manage. All he could do was let him purge it in the hope that it might hurt less later. If he had any hope of fixing this, he knew now that he had to tread lightly, prove that he could be trusted and for once he was more than willing.

After a long while, the tears dried and Richard's breathing had slowed enough to tell Till that he'd fallen asleep, most likely exhausted. It was only then that he allowed himself to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. that got heavier than i intended.


	9. No Empty Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olli makes a discovery, Richard's dealing with his issues in a healthy way, and Paul puts his foot down.

A few hours had passed, and Olli was struggling to keep himself awake, especially considering the shivering heat generator passed out against him. Still, he was alive and that helped him convince himself that there was a sliver of hope that they might get out of this situation, yet. Carefully, he extricated himself out from under Schneider, easing him to the floor and sliding a pillow under his head. He got up to stretch his legs, getting himself a drink of water and pacing back and forth around the small room, trying to ignore the way the walls felt like they were closing in on them both. It was then that he saw them. Two empty whiskey bottles placed down alongside a shelving unit bolted to the wall. Frowning, he picked one up and crouched next to Schneider, shaking his shoulder lightly.

“Hrm.” Schneider grimaced, rolling onto his other side with his back facing Olli.

“Wake up.” He tried again, tugging his shoulder and forcing him to roll onto his back. “Schneider, this is important!”

“ _What_?” He groused, his eyes opening just enough to squint unhappily at Olli. “You moved. I was comfortable.”

“Are these yours?” He waved the bottle at him. Schneider's head lifted enough just to see the label.

“Yeah, why?”

“For fuck's sake..” Olli muttered, standing up and snatching the box of antibiotics from the table. “And are these the antibiotics Flake gave you?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, his eyes slowly falling shut again before he was given another rough shake. “Jesus Christ Oliver, would you get to the point?!”

“Let me read something to you,” He produced the information leaflet from the box and cleared his throat. He was already using his best _Let me demonstrate how much of a fucking idiot you are_ voice. “Under no circumstances should this medication be taken with alcohol. In studies, alcohol has been proven to both reduce its efficacy, and in a large number of cases can cause unwanted side effects, including fever, chills and vomiting..”

“So...what?” Schneider's brow furrowed and he rubbed his eyes with his fingers in an attempt to get them to stay open.

“These symptoms may take up to forty-eight hours to clear once alcohol consumption has ceased. What it _means_ ” Olli threw the box at him and it bounced off his forehead with a satisfying _thunk_. “Is that you're not dying, you're just a _fucking idiot_. You've been drinking whiskey on top of these things – that's why your arm isn't getting better and _that's_ why you've been throwing up!” He sat down against the wall and pressed his hands to his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed with a mixture of relief and anger. “Jesus, I could have shot you before I found that out. I could have handed you the gun and let you do it yourself!” His hands shook a little. ”Fucking _hell._ ”

Schneider said nothing for a moment or two, still processing the fact that he'd been convinced his death was imminent for the past twenty-four hours because he hadn't bothered to read a little bit of paper. “Shit.”

“Shit is right, you fucker!”

Olli looked shell-shocked and even in his half-asleep state, he knew it was his fault, so Schneider got up and climbed onto Olli's lap, legs straddling his thighs. Gently, he pulled Olli's hands away from his face and held them in his own. “I'm sorry, Olli. I didn't even think to check.”

“You never do! You just _do_ things and hope for the best!” He shouted. “I adore you but sometimes I really want to punch you in the face. I was fucking _terrified_ seeing you like that!”

“You can if you want if it makes you feel better..” He paused, tilting his head. He hadn't noticed it before, but Olli's right eyebrow was swollen at the edge and a black and red mottled ring was forming underneath it. He squinted, pointing at it. “What happened here?”

Olli sighed, almost like he was deflating. Now there was another confession he had to make.

“Richard sort of... punched me.” He admitted, head lowered.

Not even waiting for the rest of it, Schneider gritted his teeth. “I'll fucking kill him.”

“No, no.” He gripped Schneider's hands before he decided to start trying to kick the door in. “It was my fault. I sort of... shot Till.”

“Wait.. what?” He blinked slowly, wondering what the hell had been going on in the rest of the house while he'd been locked down there. “Sort of? I mean you either did or you didn't..”

“I _did_.” Olli groaned. “But I didn't mean to. It was an accident.” He rubbed his forehead and grimaced. He'd been hoping for at least an hour or two's sleep before broaching the subject but it was happening now, so he supposed he'd better spill it. “There was a herd of infected outside the gate and Paul was worried they'd be able to get through so I went up on the roof with the sniper rifle and the others had all these Molotov cocktails and things trying to burn them. Till got to play with Sophia which of course, he was thrilled about.”

“So what happened? Is Till okay!?”

“Yeah, he's.. he'll live. Flake says punctured lung but he thinks it'll be fine.” Olli frowned. “Thing is, I started seeing things while I was up on the roof. I lost my focus. My hands were shaking and I just..” He shook his head, a haunted look in his eye as he recounted the story. “The next thing I know they're carrying Till inside. Richard thought I'd done it on purpose because of the fight we had so...” He gestured at his eye.

Schneider breathed a sigh of relief at the news, though he was still concerned about Olli's state of mind because losing focus like that wasn't something the Olli he knew would do. Not when it came to safeguarding the others on a job. The whole reason he was a sniper in the first place was his ability to remain calm under pressure. “What do you mean, you started _seeing things_?” He asked.

Olli's eyes met Schneider's briefly and he shook his head. He didn't want to say it.

“Oh, Olli.” Schneider sighed.

“I was convinced it was you. I was sure it was because my brain doesn't play tricks on me like that – at least I didn't think it did until I thought-” He swallowed. “ I don't really remember much between that and Reesh punching me.” His lips twisted slightly, looking guilty. “I've never had a blackout like that before...” He shook his head as if to rid him of the thought, and wrapped his arms around Schneider's waist. “How are you feeling now?

“Like I need a fucking shower.” He grimaced. “I don't feel particularly _good_ , but I don't feel like puking, so that's got to be a good sign hasn't it?”

“Try eating something and taking some more of those pills without washing them down with a bottle of Scotch, then we'll see. What did he leave in here for you to eat, anyway?”

“Instant cup noodles. Only one flavour, as well. I'd say I hope I never have to eat them again but given the circumstances we know that isn't likely.” He didn't much feel like having an existential crisis about the end of the world right then, so he continued, putting his arms around Olli's neck. He felt guilty about the fact that Olli had clearly been having a much rougher time than he had, and he was still more concerned about him than himself. “Anyway, forget that. What about you?” He asked.

“Um,” He looked down. “I don't know, honestly. Bad? But better now you look less like a ghost.” He smiled slightly. “I came down here and talked to you for a while last night. I don't think you heard me, though. I guess I was hoping you'd tell me to get my shit together.”

“I didn't hear anything.” He frowned guiltily, wondering if he'd have heard if he hadn't been such an idiot with his medication. “I was asleep most of yesterday. When I was awake, I was puking” He nudged his forehead against Olli's affectionately. “You could tell me now?”

“It doesn't matter.” He shrugged.

“It does to me. I want to know.” Schneider insisted.

“Just – Just that you better get out of here in one piece,” He said quietly. “Because I'm not quite sure how to do this without you. If I _want_ to..” His arms tightened around Schneider a little. “We've been in each other's pockets for so long that I didn't have to think about it before, but I didn't realise how much I need you until it felt like you were gone for good, you know?” He could feel his face burning, neither one of them were exactly good at those kinds of declarations and half of him felt like Schneider might just laugh at him for it. Thankfully, he pulled him into a hug instead, and Olli smirked at his head being squished against Schneider's chest.

“I know.” He assured him, his voice rougher than usual.

“Well, you wanted me to tell you...” Olli said.

“And I'm glad you did. I'm just acting strangely because I'm ill.” He said somewhat sulkily, before sniffing and clearing his throat.

“Sure.” Olli chuckled.

“Though if anything did happen, I wouldn't want you to give up. If any of those four up there are still standing, then you carry on, right? They'd do the same for us.” He demanded, though his voice shook and there wasn't much force behind it. “ _Ein Kollektiv_ , remember?”

“ _Ein Kollektiv._ ” He agreed with a small nod of the head.

* * *

_Oh jesus._

Richard's eyes felt dry and sore as he forced himself to open them the following morning. The thick arm curled around his waist told him that yes, last night definitely happened and now everything was a bit of a fucking mess, even by his standards. His throat felt rough and he immediately felt the need to get a drink. Something cold followed by something alcoholic would have been preferable. Gently, he pried Till's arm from around him, who mercifully only stirred slightly before going back to sleep, which meant he wasn't up for any more conversations - _thank God_ \- and slid out of bed. He made a quick stop at the bathroom and got changed into a fashionably distressed black sweater and equally black jeans before putting his sunglasses on and heading downstairs. He had a flair for the dramatic even when he didn't intend to. Why did the house have so many _fucking_ windows, anyway?

“Fucking hell, it's Meryl Streep!” Flake declared as soon as he walked into the kitchen, and Paul – who was sat on the counter eating toast – cackled. It was great because Flake would say things that he only dared think... and then Flake would cop the flack for it.

Richard grumbled and got himself a glass of water, downing the pint in one go before pouring another, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“You know if you want to keep drinking booze like this, you're going to have to head out there for supplies pretty soon.” Flake pointed out, assuming he was hungover because... well. It was Richard. There was a 70/30 chance of being correct, at least.

“I wasn't drinking last night.” He finally said, walking over to the fridge and opening the door only to stare blankly at its contents. He could have probably come up with something to put together out of it if only he could think straight. “Although I wouldn't say no to one now if there's any left.”

“Check the pantry.” Flake shrugged because he wasn't about to start breaking into the supplies in the basement yet, but Richard found a beer and held it aloft, choosing that instead of cooking for the time being. “Or there's that.”

Richard moved to sit on the opposite side of the kitchen table to Flake, putting his feet up on the chair next to him. Paul and Flake exchanged a slightly confused look while Richard was busy clenching the beer bottle between his knees, using his good hand to pry the cap off, managing to spill only a little on his hand, which he licked off anyway.

“You know it's only half nine, right?” Paul asked, trying not to sound too much like he was fussing.

“I'm pretty sure we don't have to follow the etiquette on day drinking any more.” Flake pointed out unhelpfully.

Paul narrowed his eyes, wordlessly telling Flake to shut up and stop taking the piss for five seconds.

“What Flake said.” Richard pointed, lolling casually on the chair. He was doing his usual thing, pretending not to be bothered about _something_ whilst coming off as very bothered indeed. He then shot finger guns in their direction, complete with a ' _pew pew_!' which confirmed the theory immediately. Only he could try and mask the fact that he was plunging into a depression by doing a poor impersonation of The Fonz.

“I'm going away now.” Flake got to his feet and put his dishes in the sink. “You're very weird. Goodbye.”

He smirked as he headed out of the kitchen, Paul's look of annoyance at being left to deal with Richard being a general mess boring into the back of his head.

“I'm taking that as a compliment from the king of the weirdos!” Richard called after him, smirking slightly.

“So, what is it if not a hangover then?” Paul asked, not shifting from his perch on the counter. “You're being odd. Odder than usual, I mean.”

“How dare you, first off.” Richard pointed, putting his beer down and lighting a cigarette because apparently he was a rebel and smoked all over the house with impunity, now. “Secondly?” He thought for a moment, then gave up and shrugged. “Everything.”

“Just generally.”

“Yeah. Just all of it.” He waved a hand and took a long slug of beer.

“Wouldn't it be something to do with you being in Till's room all night, would it?” Paul asked, feigning ignorance when he knew that's _exactly what it fucking was_.

“Might be, Sherlock.” He nodded, his bottom lip protruding. “Pretty sure most of my problems could be summed up with two words. Well. Three. Till _fucking_ Lindemann.”

“What's happened now?” Paul asked, hopping off the counter and filling up the coffee machine. He needed coffee for this. And so did Richard by the looks of things. He still couldn't quite understand why they kept dragging each other back into a situation that wasn't particularly healthy for either of them, but he couldn't understand why most people did the things they did so maybe he wasn't much of an expert. It's not like logic ever came into it, so he stopped trying to figure it out for the most part. “Go on.” He sat down where Flake had been sitting and waited for the machine to finish brewing.

“Ugh, I don't know. I said some things, he said some things... things that I'm ninety-nine per cent sure he only said because he was pumped full of painkillers and I am one-hundred per cent sure I made a complete fucking idiot out of myself.” He slid his fingers under his sunglasses and rubbed his tired eyes, still gritty from sleep, inwardly cringing at the memory. “It's probably nothing. I bet he won't remember when he wakes up, anyway and a load of horrible shit just got dredged up for no fucking reason.”

“That's what I admire about you, Reesh. Eternally fucking optimistic.”

Richard snorted slightly. Sometimes, when his mind was all over the place like this, he thought it would have been nice to have fallen in love with Paul instead. There was never any guessing where Paul was concerned, and he'd tell you exactly what he thought whether you wanted to hear it or not. There was no talking in riddles or just outright _leaving_ to avoid a conversation. It was a good job they were best friends because even he knew he needed that kind of brutal honesty to put him back on the ground sometimes. It was nice to be around someone who would put a leash on his thoughts before they got away from him, rather leave him to wonder, slip the leash and let them run amok.

“It's realism.” He corrected him, “He says whatever will end the argument quickest, whatever thing will placate the quickest. For someone in this line of work, he'll go out of his way to avoid confrontations, sometimes.”

“So, what did he say exactly?” Paul asked, the coffee machine gurgling. He got to his feet and made the drinks before coming back, pushing one cup in front of Richard.

“That he loved me, that he wished he'd treated me better, that he feels guilty...” He waved a hand, an eye-roll clearly visible despite the glasses. “All of that.. stuff that you say when you want someone to stop making you feel bad for treating them like shit.”

“I think you're being a bit harsh.” Paul frowned. “I've known Till for a very long time and I don't think he says things like that for the sake of it. I don't think you believe that, either. Not really.“

“I don't know what I believe, honestly.” He huffed miserably, leaning on the table and propping his head up with his hand. “I mean, either way, it's not an ideal situation. Either he didn't mean it which is bad for obvious reasons, or he _did_ which is...” He blew out a huff of air. “I'm just not sure I can do that again, you know? Why would I, if it's going to end like it does every other time?”

Paul's mouth twisted slightly and Richard knew there was something he wanted to say, and that he was trying to figure out a way to put it without upsetting him.

“Go on.” He encouraged, nodding his head and taking a sip of his drink. “Out with it.”

Paul looked reluctant, still.

“Please. You know you always tell me shit I don't want to hear, why would now be any different?” He frowned a little. “Give me something to think about before I go and do something fucking stupid.”

“Look, I'm not saying he doesn't mean what he says. I'm sure he does feel bad about the thing's he's done, but _that being said_.” He took a deep breath. “That doesn't mean he's not going to do it again. I mean, the fact that he can't just walk out of here might help a bit.”

“Oh, god.” Richard sat back. The thought genuinely hadn't crossed his mind. “That's it, isn't it?” His eyebrows lifted over the top of his sunglasses. “He doesn't have as many options now, does he? I'm the last resort!”

“ _Rich_.” Paul groaned at the fact that he'd chosen to take the worst possible interpretation of what he'd just said. “What I meant was that he can't fucking run off instead of having a conversation. Well, he could – but he wouldn't be hard to find.” Sighing, he drummed on the table, trying to figure out a way to drag Richard off the ledge that he'd just decided to clamber onto. “Look, I can't tell you what you should do here, but if he means what he says then I suggest you let him demonstrate it before you decide to go throwing yourself into it like you usually do.” He shrugged because that really was the best advice he could give. He wasn't sure at what point he became the resident agony aunt, but the job was his now, apparently. “The thing is, Till doesn't have to pick up the pieces after, _I_ do – and every time it's a little bit harder to do. I just worry that one day there won't be anything left to fix.” Saying that made him feel slightly emotional, but he hoped he didn't let it read on his face. It wasn't pleasant, watching bits of someone slowly get chipped away like that. It had been a long while since things had settled down the last time, but whatever had happened the previous night had Richard looking like he was already shrinking, his skin pale and sweater hanging looser than usual, his collarbone protruding where the collar drooped slightly. Of course, the fact that he hadn't seen him eat properly in days, except the evidence of doughnuts, certainly had something to do with that.

“You're right. I know you're right.” Richard nodded slowly, draining the last of his beer. “Listen, I'm... I think I'm getting a headache. I think I'm going to pop some pills and sleep in my own bed for a couple of hours, see if I can't get rid of it.” He got up and walked around the side of the table, hooking an arm around Paul and hugging him from behind affectionately. “Thanks. For everything.” He smiled. “Believe it or not, I do listen when you try and talk some sense into me.”

“Sometimes.” Paul grinned, patting the arm wrapped around his chest. “Hope you feel better.”

“Me too,” Richard said quietly, giving him a slight squeeze before disappearing again.

Paul suddenly realised that he _still_ hadn't eaten anything. With a sigh, he rested his head on his folded arms and closed his eyes. He had to wonder sometimes if it was normal to care as much about Richard's relationship woes as he did, but then he decided it was probably best not to open that door. After a few moments' thought, he was struck with an idea. It was a potentially terrible idea, but regardless of that, he was on his feet and on his way up the stairs with two cups full of coffee in the hopes that it might help ease the way, somewhat.

He knocked on the door before nudging it open slightly to find Till awake and reading, the glasses he rarely used perched on the edge of his nose and one arm folded behind his head. He was already conscious, so that was something to be thankful for.

“Paul!” Till looked up when he saw him and grinned.

“Hallo!” He smiled and took that as an invitation to come in. He held up the drink like an offering and handed it over before sitting on the bed, cross-legged. “Reesh just went to bed with a migraine or something so I figured I'd bring you this.”

“Is he alright?” He asked, brow wrinkling slightly.

“Yeah, he's fine.” Paul waved off the concern. “He just needs to have a sleep and then I'll make him eat something when he's up.” Moving the conversation on, he suddenly remembered. “Oh! We're opening up the utility room later. Thought you should know.”

“I should get up,” Till said, moving to start getting out of bed before Paul placed a hand on his arm.

“You're fine.” He insisted. “We're not even doing it until later. Get up, then. The rest of us will go down there and get them out. Or... whatever it is we'll need to do down there.” He frowned slightly, really hoping that the worst-case scenario wasn't about to play out. Till reluctantly agreed and settled back down in the bed. “Till... I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Mm?” He asked, blowing on his drink.

“Look, I know we're still doing this... stupid fucking thing where we all pretend we don't know what's going on with you and Reesh, but we do. Because we're not fucking idiots.”

“Well,” Till couldn't help but chuckle. “That's a fucking opener, I'll give you that. Go on.”

“The thing is, I know more than most because I end up having to fucking.. deal with Reesh after you've decided you're done with him,” Paul said frustratedly. “I don't know the details of what you said to him last night but I got the gist and If you're serious, I'm just asking you, with the best will in the world to try and not fuck it up this time.”

Till raised an eyebrow, secretly a little bit impressed at the boldness. It even might have warmed his heart a little that his crew were so loyal to one another but still, he didn't let it slip. “Does Reesh know you're up here?”

“Nope. Just doing it off my own back” _because I have a death wish_. “because I have seen the aftermath of what happens when Hurricane Till decides to blow in. You, on the other hand, never wait around long enough.” Paul sighed, and the little voice in his head kept on asking him what the _fuck_ he was playing at but he felt like they'd known each other much too long to dance around the subject, now. He placed his hand on Till's arm. “Till, you're my friend and I love you very much but if you fuck up this time, I'll make sure you don't do it again.” He said firmly, a look of absolute resolution on his face. He left it vague, but Till had a good idea of what he was getting at.

“That's a threat, isn't it?” Till tilted his head, amused. He was walking the fucking line, then – but he still couldn't help but feel admiration for it. Paul's eyes darkened and the corner of his mouth twitched with a slight smile. Slight as he was, he knew as well as anyone that Paul was not to be fucked with – it _was_ why he brought him into the gang, after all.

“I suggest it's probably best you don't try and find out.” Paul grinned lopsidedly.

“Understood.” Till nodded slowly. He wasn't so naïve to not understand that his position as a leader only remained as long as everyone else was in agreement, such was the unspoken but very democratic arrangement they had. He knew exactly when it was time to bite and keep his charges in line. This, however, wasn't that time. “Not that it's any of your business, but I have no intention of _fucking up_ as you put it.”

“Good.” Paul smiled sweetly against his cup, feeling emboldened by the lack of repercussions. “Then we won't have a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I know I wrote it and all but i want a bff like paul tbh.


	10. Behind The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four remaining crew members prepare to open the utility room. Olli and Schneider make their own amusement.

Flake put the shotgun down on the kitchen counter with a _clank_ and eyed it up suspiciously. He wasn't one for this hands-on business. He prefered fixing things, or modifying them or... blowing them up. Things that were a lot more technical than pulling a trigger. Still, with Till with his leg and a bullet-hole in his chest, he wasn't exactly fighting fit so with the other two in the basement that left Paul, Reesh and himself – not that he wasn't sure the other two could handle it themselves. Well, Paul could. At that moment in time, he wasn't so sure about Reesh who despite sleeping for the past five hours was continuing to brood. Or sulk. Or both. It was hard to distinguish where he was concerned. He'd finally come clean about letting Olli into the utility room which Till hadn't been pleased about but for whatever reason, he could never stay annoyed at Flake for very long. He didn't know why, but he certainly wasn't going to question it.

Richard gnawed at his fingernails sat at the kitchen table, which rattled slightly as his foot tapped anxiously against the floor. Everyone could tell he was wired from something other than coffee but nobody mentioned just in case it tripped his temper which was the last thing anyone needed right then, considering. Till, who'd gotten up for moral support if nothing else, was sat opposite and lightly kicked his shin under the table.  
“Hey.” He said, “I'm sure they'll be alright, you know?”

“I know.” He said curtly. He didn't know any such thing. He didn't bother to continue the conversation and looked up at the others. Paul was busy checking the chamber of his gun with a look that said he really didn't want to have to use it – for a change. “Can we just get this over with, please?” Richard asked tightly, sure that if he let his brain imagine what was waiting for them down there any more he'd lose it.

“Sure.” Paul nodded, sensing the manic energy radiating off of the other man from the other side of the room. “Flake, you set?”

“Yup.” He nodded, picking up and cocking the shotgun off the counter before following Paul out of the room.

Before he had a chance to join them, Till caught Richard's hand as he tried to breeze past, pulling him back towards him.

“Are you going to be alright?” He asked, eyes wide and full of concern. Richard almost believed it. Almost.

“Yeah.” He nodded quickly. “Just want to get it over with.”

“Just be careful down there, alright?” Till asked, squeezing his hand. “Don't take any unnecessary risks.”

“Well, I'm well known for being risk-averse,” Richard said sarcastically.

“That's exactly why I'm saying it. I know you too well.” Till said sternly, letting go of his hand. “Go on.” He nodded towards the door.

Richard offered him a slightly warmer smile than before and ran out to catch up with the others.

* * *

By the time Schneider washed in the sink – it wasn't the shower he was craving but it did at least help him to feel less grubby – and had another sleep, this time laying down on the floor in a massively oversized hoodie with the owner of said hoodie's limbs tangled around him, he felt pretty much back to his usual, cantankerous self. When he woke up, he looked around in dozy confusion for a moment, taking him a moment to remember where he was.

“Ugh.” He said, stretching a little because the tiled floor was doing his back no favours and he'd be _damned_ if he was going to spend another night in that tiny fucking box. That being said, it was kind of nice to have pretty much complete privacy without the risk of someone banging on his door and calling them away as they seemed to have a habit of doing – to the point where Schneider was beginning to wonder if they did it on purpose to amuse themselves. He wouldn't put it past any of them. His head fell back to the pillow and he shuffled closer to Ollie again, ducking his head and nuzzling into his chest, which then jerked with a small laugh.

“You look like a gnome,” Olli informed him, voice rasping slightly.

“That's because all of your clothes are made for gangly freaks,” Schneider muttered.

“If I'm a gangly freak, what does that make you?” Olli asked, opening one eye and smirking down at him. “You gangly freak banger.”

“That's a band name. There's a potential career path now that the jobs have dried up.”

“Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the stage, The Gangly Freak Bangers!” Olli laughed, impersonating a compere and holding an imaginary microphone. “Now all we have to do is get some musical talent and we'll be set!”

“Have you heard Till singing when he's in the shower? He's got some pipes.” Schneider nodded, looking a little impressed.

“You like... tapping on things,” Olli noted.

“Excuse me! I'm very good at tapping on things.”

“But you only do it when you're worried – we'd have to keep you in a permanent state of anxiety. I don't think I'd like that.”

“It really wouldn't be that hard,” Schneider said with a small smile.

Olli ducked his head a little, curling his fingers under Schneider's chin and tilting his head up into a kiss which the older man happily leaned into with a small grunt, his hand slipping under the hem of Olli's t-shirt and pulling him closer by the small of his back.

“Nope.” Olli shook his head, leaning back just a little and leaving Schneider looking confused. He tugged at the hoodie over his shoulders. “This has got to go.” He let Schneider lift his arms before pulling it, along with his t-shirt over his head and throwing it out of the way before pushing the smaller man back against the floor, grinning at the hand tightening in his hair when he attacked his throat with kisses, nipping every so often and making Schneider squirm when his teeth tugged at his skin. Olli straddled his hips, keeping him pinned in place while he slid lower, pulling one nipple between his teeth just enough to make Schneider hiss and buck up against him, smirking at the shudder it elicited when he eased it with his tongue.

“Fucking hell..” Schneider mumbled, worrying his lip between his teeth and lifting his head just long enough to see Olli vanish underneath the covers and spend entirely too long tormenting the lower part of his stomach with his mouth. Confident hands palmed him through his boxers and Schneider's fist tightened in the short spikes of Olli's hair, straining up against the hand pinning his hips to the floor. The torment continued for a few more moments that stretched out too long until Olli saw fit to slide his boxers down over his hips, letting his aching cock rest against his stomach untouched until Schneider finally relented. “Olli, _please_.” He almost whined, which amused Olli greatly and his snickering earned him a slap on the shoulder. “You absolute fu-”

The words died in his throat when the flat of Olli's tongue dragged along the full length of his cock, making him reflexively reach up and clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle the desperate moan that burst out of him. He could feel Olli grin against his stomach before a warm mouth enveloped him and the grip on his hip loosened just enough to let him thrust up into it. Schneider's eyes closed, forehead wrinkled, and his fingers scratched at Olli's scalp encouragingly. “Shit, Olli..” He gasped, sounding like he was begging although he didn't know what for. Maybe it was being locked up for days and the craving for release but as soon as they found a rhythm he could feel himself getting close. His hips stuttered and he grunted out a warning but instead of pulling back, Olli swallowed him deeper and quickened his movements, leaving Schnieder with nothing to stifle his cries when both of his hands pawed desperately at his shoulders.

Olli became distantly aware of a sudden, loud thump but he had more pressing matters on his mind at that precise moment and he groaned slightly, breathing through his nose and stroking Schneider's chest encouragingly as he came hard with a string of stifled curses. At first, they sounded happy, then there was a gasp, and then... angry?

Above him, the door had opened at the most inopportune possible moment and as soon as Schneider had the sense about him to realise that, he grabbed the nearest thing to hand – a half-eaten noodle pot – and hurled it at the door. “Will you _fuck off_!” He yelled, voice strained and much too high. “Close the _fucking door!”_

The three men in the doorway scattered, letting the door bounce shut on its own, only without the telltale lock this time, and a mixture of cackles and running footsteps barrelled away, shortly followed by a rather violent coughing fit that was almost definitely Richard.

“Oh _God_.” Schneider groaned breathlessly, covering his face with his hands. Olli meanwhile, had his face buried in his chest and the blanket was practically vibrating with the force of his laughter. “It's not fucking funny!” He hissed, cuffing the side of his head lightly, which only made him laugh harder. “Stop it, you dick!” He said, only he was laughing then too, and Olli emerged from under the blanket, catching his jaw and kissing him playfully.

“Probably should head out then, huh?” Olli said with a smirk.

Closing the gap between their lips, Schneider lifted his head and pushed a more than willing Olli onto his back, clambering on top of him with a glint in his eye.

“We've waited to get out for this long – I don't think a little longer is going to do any harm, do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a silly chapter and I regret nothing.


	11. Resistance Is Futile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider and Olli return to the land of the (mostly) living. Richard and Till reach an understanding. 
> 
> CW for drug use and depictions of anxiety attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. Sorry about the extended hiatus. I managed to get sick (mildly) early on and then lost my ability to write for a few weeks which was annoying. Anyway, I might get back to some action in the next chapter (or the one after that) because I can't just let things stay nice now, can I?

A while after the door had been opened, Olli and an extremely embarrassed looking Schneider finally appeared in the living room to a good-natured cheer and a round of playful, jostling hugs before they could sit down on the two free seats on the couch next to Paul. Till took Olli aside to yank him into a hug – he hadn't seen him since the shooting and he felt the need to let him know there were no hard feelings right off the bat. Olli breathed a sigh of relief into his shoulder and returned the gesture.

“We started without you.” Paul raised a beer, gesturing at the two that were waiting for them on the coffee table. Olli grabbed his, but Schneider hesitated, sitting back and frowning at it.

“Yeah thanks, but I think I'm going to leave it.” He pulled the box of antibiotics out of his pocket and rattled them. “Turns out, these things don't play nicely with booze.”

“Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten about those.” Flake chuckled and winced at the same time. “Did you try drinking with them? Yeah, you're not gonna have a good time if you do things like that.”

“Do you think it might have been wise to tell me that _before_ I went in there, maybe?”

“Well I'd assumed you'd read the leaflet!” Flake lifted his hands. “Do you usually take pills without checking what they do first?”

“... _Yes!?_ ” Schneider shouted, like that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard.

“He is right. You didn't even take the leaflet out of the box before you washed them down your neck with whiskey.” Olli pointed out, earning himself a slight scowl even though he was absolutely correct.

“ _Whiskey_?” Flake gaped at him. “Oooh, _Schneider,_ ” He tutted. “That wasn't the best idea you've ever had.”

“I thought he was dying,” Olli admitted, feeling like he could at least joke about it a bit now that he knew for sure that he wasn't.

“ _I_ thought I was dying!” Schneider said, eyes wide. “I've never thrown up that much in my life!”

Paul giggled at that. “I'm sorry. It's not funny.” He attempted to straighten his face before breaking again. “Except it absolutely is, you utter fuckwit.”

Schneider folded his arms sulkily and Olli draped an arm over his shoulder, giving him a sideways hug and patting him on the side of the head sympathetically. This was absolutely breaking their protocol of not being affectionate around the others but given the eyeful most of them received just an hour before, he supposed there wasn't a lot of point keeping up that pretence any more, so he leaned into it.

“Don't listen to him, Schneider.” Olli cooed jokingly. “You're only a fuckwit about half of the time.”

“I hate all of you.” Schneider grumbled and bit back a smirk, rolling out of Olli's grip and getting to his feet. “I'm going to go and find something to drink that won't kill me.” He said and headed for the kitchen.

“I don't know why, but that just reminded me-” Richard spoke up from the armchair he was lounging in, beer in one hand and his legs draped over the arm. “Why do you have a fridge full of our blood, Flake?”

“It's not _your_ blood. It's blood that's compatible _with_ you.” He shrugged, taking a swig of beer. “You fools won't go anywhere near a hospital – the real question is why _wouldn't_ I have a freezer full of blood? Probably a good thing now, too – unless you lot feel like raiding a hospital before the power cuts out completely.”

“Well.” Paul said, looking ponderous. “It would give us something to do, wouldn't it? Maybe not hospitals, but a supply run?”

“Give everyone time to rest up and it's probably a good idea.” Till agreed with a nod, relishing the idea of getting outside of the gates. “Might be interesting, seeing what's out there.”

“I can guarantee whatever's out there might be interesting but it will _not_ be fun.” Richard said morosely. “You only want to go out there so you can carry on playing with that flamethrower, anyway.”

“Ah, Richard. You shouldn't be so jealous of inanimate objects. It's not very becoming.” Flake teased, and Richard groused, folding his arms. “Although, I would caution against _all_ of you heading out there. Not to be morbid but if anything happens and you don't make it back..”

“Mm.” Till nodded, not needing Flake to finish his thought. “Pairs or threes, then.”

“Probably wise.”

That hung heavily over the room like a fog, the thought that any of them could head out and never return. It was always a possibility when they were robbing and scamming their way across the city but now the threat seemed more tangible, as a group they felt more vulnerable. It wasn't cops. They could handle cops. It was monsters and whoever else remained - abandoned, scared people - arguably the most dangerous group of all.

“Well if it's all the same to you, if we don't have to go anywhere right now, I'm getting drunk.” Richard finally broke the silence, draining his beer.

“You? Getting drunk?” Paul smirked mischievously. “Well, there's a surprise.”

“Well, I've got to put up with being quarantined with you somehow, darling.” Richard retorted with a wink, sitting up and retrieving another beer from the cooler next to the coffee table.

Schneider returned then, with a can of soda and a well-stacked sandwich.

“So much for rationing, then..” Flake rolled his eyes.

“You can fuck right off,” Schneider argued, sitting back down next to Olli. “I've missed out on three days of your rations, and I need a break from those _fucking_ noodle pots.”

“Speaking of, I take it you didn't clean up that mess before you came up here?”

“Nope.” Schneider shrugged.

“I don't know why I even bothered asking.” Flake rolled his eyes and took a swig of beer.

Olli sat up, promptly lifted up the sandwich from the plate and stole a bite. Schneider fixed him with the iciest death-glare he could muster.

“What? I missed out on a day too.” He reasoned with a full mouth and a shrug, earning a slight narrowing of the eyes that told him revenge would be exacted at some point in the future.

“It's a good job I like you,” Schneider said. “I've killed a man for less.”

“The funny thing is, I don't doubt that.” Olli chuckled. “Worth it. That's a fucking good sandwich.”

Shaking his head, Schneider tucked into his food.

“D'you think anyone's out there trying to find a cure for this?” Paul asked ponderously, lips pressed to the top of his beer bottle. “There has to be, right?”

“Well the head honchos headed for the fucking hills, so what does that tell you?” Richard said cynically, scratching at a beer label absently, nails marked with remnants of black where he coloured them with a marker pen in a fit of boredom, swirls of black across the backs of his hands where he'd gotten bored of _that_.

“Yeah, but that's them. There's still got to be doctors. Scientists. People who actually went into a job to help people – you could count politicians out of that even before all of this. It's not like there's many who go into that line of work to actually help people, regardless of what they might tell you.” Flake countered, “There probably are some people out there trying to figure it all out. Trouble is, it all happened so fast that they wouldn't have even got a chance to find out what it was before it got out of control. Then there's the fact that most lines of communication are down right now..” He pursed his lips slightly and frowned. He knew he shouldn't run out of hope, but the assessment was grim when he said it out loud. “You never know. There could still be a network of people working on all of that while we're stuck in here. Maybe they'll surprise us.”

“Hm,” Richard mumbled, unconvinced.

“It's alright, Reesh. Either way, we'll find you some hair dye.” Paul smirked in an attempt to lighten Richard's decidedly grouchy demeanour and earned himself a middle finger and a slight grin in response. “I'll put it on the list.”

“If only we could find you a better sense of humour so easily.” Richard retorted, flicking a screwed up label sticker in Paul's direction.

“You can't improve on perfection.” Paul shrugged with an impish smirk.

A couple of hours passed and many beers were downed before eventually, everyone started considering retiring for the night. Olli and Schneider went first, which was to be expected, especially since Olli had started enthusing about how much he was looking forward to not sleeping on a floor, to which Schneider pointed out that he'd only had to do it for a night, and he'd been locked in there for _three days_ \- and apparently, he wasn't going to let anyone forget it any time soon by the way he complained about his back aching. Heading upstairs, a sober (and not happy about it) Schneider walked behind Olli, whose gangly limbs were decidedly unsteady as he scaled the steps and – much to Schneider's irritation - kept leaning back to talk to him and he had to issue several demands of “ _Will you get up the fucking stairs?!_ ” before Olli finally got the message.

After saying next to nothing for the past half hour, and a good half of the way into a bottle of rum he'd procured from the kitchen, Richard lifted his arms, a cigarette hanging precariously between the two fingers of one hand and the other wrapped tightly around the remains of the bottle.

“Lightweights!” He declared, rolling awkwardly off the chair and swaying somewhat dangerously as he pulled himself to his feet. “I just remembered. I have Jagermeister upstairs.” He declared, one eye seemingly slower to blink than the other. The three remaining men sitting down let out a chorus of “ _Nooooo_.” but he was undeterred. This was the problem when he mixed drugs and booze, if it was just drinking alone there would be a point where he'd pass out even if he didn't want to. Throw some stimulants in there and he was apparently unstoppable – at least he was until he crashed and then nobody would see him for three days. “You.” He pointed between the two couches. “You wait there. I'll be back.”

And, off he went on legs about as steady as you'd expect from a baby deer. Everyone else watched him go, all silently convinced that he was going to trip over himself any minute and not one of them wanting to miss it. Much to everyone's disappointment, he made it up the stairs and out of sight without so much as a stumble.

“What do you think?” Flake asked Till and Paul over his shoulder. “Is he coming back or is he passing out?”

“We should just all disappear now before we get dragged into something messy.” Paul cringed, not really feeling like being nudged and cajoled into a binge.

“On the other hand,” Flake said, throwing a potato chip into his mouth with a devilish look in his eye. “I do love a car crash.”

* * *

Closing the bedroom door behind him, Richard glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't followed before pulling a small key out of his pocket and unlocking the top desk drawer, pulling out a small plastic baggie and holding up to the light. He'd already hammered the remains of his stash and now he had a couple of lines left at best. The kicker was that it wasn't even making him feel better like it usually did. Undeterred, however, he leaned over the desk, picking up a now-defunct credit card and emptying the bag onto the desk's glass top, carefully chopping out two lines and snorting them both in quick succession. The quick movement from bending to standing upright made his head rush and he stepped back, his calves bumping against the foot of the bed and forcing him to sit down heavily. Gripping the edge of the mattress, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, his knee jiggling anxiously as he waited for the dizziness to pass. Fabric clung to cold sweat and he tugged at the collar of his sweater like it was choking him, though it couldn't have been much looser. The room continued to sway and carefully, he eased himself back and tried to keep his eyes fixed to one speck of dirt on the ceiling but it danced around his field of vision, sometimes splitting into two. He took another deep breath, holding it in for _one, two, three_ before blowing it out. Usually, the sensation of his heart rapidly pounding in his chest would invigorate him, have him bounding down the stairs to resume his rightful place as the life and soul of the party but this felt different. It was beating a little too hard and the sound resonated in his head, a rapid thump that made his chest ache.

 _Breathe_. He mentally commanded himself but it felt like it was getting harder to suck in air and he was struggling not to start panting. This was a panic attack, he'd had enough of them to know it, but that never made them less frightening. In desperation, he opened his mouth to call for someone to help, someone to talk him down, but the sound died in his throat with the same sensation of being unable to scream in a nightmare. Terror clutched at his chest, an invisible weight keeping him pinned in place. He screwed his eyes shut prayed to anyone who might be listening to make it pass, but his pleas fell on deaf ears and the quickness of his breathing was starting to make it feel as though his chest might collapse with the effort.

Long minutes passed before a small knock at the door went unnoticed, but he heard the second one followed by his name being called. He tried to reply but instead managed something between a whimper and a wheeze. He wasn't sure if he was heard or not but moments later the door opened and he could feel someone leaning over him, pressing a hand to his cheek.

“Reesh?” His panicked rescuer urged, tapping his face sharply. “Hey! Open your eyes!”

Eventually, he blinked, and Till's wide eyes were staring down at him worriedly. He gulped and gasped, clutching at his wrist, glassy eyes silently begging for help. Till nodded and slid an arm around his back, easing him up into a sitting position, keeping him propped up while his hand rubbed a circle between his shoulder blades. Richard had been here before and so had Till, although not for a long time now. He cast a furtive glance towards the remnants of coke on the desk and that was enough to confirm what he suspected.

“You overdid it again,” Till said flatly, watching Richard's shoulders rattle with shaky breaths.

His brain urged him to say _Yeah, no shit!_ or something equally snarky but what came out was a pathetic sounding whimper.

“Do you think you can stand up?” Till asked, earning a questioning look in response. “You need fresh air, it smells like an ashtray in here.” He informed him, wondering if he ever opened the damn windows.

Richard took a moment to think about it and then nodded his head. Till picked up a blanket off the bed and threw it over his shoulder before pulling Richard to his feet, one hand gripping his and the other around his back, helping him to his feet before grabbing his cane, guiding him out of the door and down the corridor to his room, onto the balcony attached to it, the walking aid clacking against the floor as they went. The cold air smacked into Richard like a wall, forcing him to suck in a deep breath, then another. The burning sensation in his lungs was unpleasant, but he could feel its necessity. Till pulled him towards one of the wicker couches arranged into a square in the corner and Richard's legs seemed to buckle as soon as they got close enough, falling like a marionette with cut strings into the cushions.

“Careful.” Till urged, sitting down next to him.

“M'sorry.” He finally spoke, swallowing thickly as he continued to pant lightly, though nowhere near as erratic as before.

“Don't be.” Till shook his head, leaning back with his hand on Richard's shoulder. “I just wish you wouldn't do this to yourself. Scares the shit out of me every time, though fuck knows I should be used to it by now.” He huffed frustratedly, raking a hand through the shock of black hair that ran down the middle of his head. Part of it was his own guilt, he was sure. Whenever Richard went on one of his binges, more often than not he was the cause of it and he was absolutely certain that this time was no different. “If I'd have known what I said was going to lead to this, I wouldn't have said anything.” He said, honestly. It wasn't that he hadn't meant it but it had clearly triggered this chain of events in motion.

“You know what? I wish you hadn't.” Richard said, too exhausted to put up a front. His words came easier now, not needing to pause for breath so often, but his voice still came out thin and raw. Fragile. His breathing slowed but his hands continued to rattle, and he immediately reached into his pocket to find a cigarette and a lighter. Till opened his mouth to suggest that _maybe_ it wasn't a good idea but he was fixed with a threatening look as though Richard just _knew_ what was about to come out of his mouth and he opted not to say it. He sat for a moment, watching Richard struggle to use his lighter until he intervened with a huff, taking it from his shaking hand and lighting it for him.

“Thanks,” Richard muttered, taking a couple of short, hitched drags, his elbows resting on his knees. “You know, it was way easier to pretend I was over you when I thought you didn't give a shit.”

“I never didn't give a shit.” Till frowned. “But I do know how much I fucked up the last time. I'm not blind to it. I wasn't exactly in a hurry to do it again.”

Richard huffed something resembling a laugh out of his nose, shaking his head.

“Sure.”

“What do you want me to say here, Reesh?” Till asked, although he half knew the answer already. “I'm not sure what I can do to convince you.”

He couldn't say he was expecting an answer but he certainly wasn't expecting what happened next. Richard sat up, placing his cigarette in the ashtray and turned, grabbing Till's shirt and dragging him into a sudden, slightly clumsy kiss. Instinctively, Till's hand shot up to the back of Richard's head, fingers curling into messy spikes of black hair and he kissed him back until his brain caught up with him and used that leverage to pull him back far enough for their lips to part, the sensation of having his hair pulled making Richard bite his bottom lip slightly, his eyes closing for just a moment.

“That wasn't an answer.” Till warned, studying Richard's eyes and noting the way the way his pupils had dilated had almost turned his blue eyes black.

“Yes it was.” He said roughly, his head pressing back against Till's hand.

“No, that was you looking for a distraction.” He frowned, refusing to take advantage of the situation, as much as he physically wanted to. God knows, that had happened to Richard enough times while he was high out of his mind and he prided himself on never being one of those people.

“I thought it was what you wanted?” Richard asked, tilting his head. “I mean, that's why you're saying all this stuff, isn't it?”

“ _What_?” Till narrowed his eyes.

“Well, it's not like you've got a lot of options now is it? I hadn't thought about it before, but Paul said something that just made me realise.” He said, not even attempting to hide the bitterness in his voice. “I'm not stupid enough to think that this is anything but a numbers situation.”

Till's hand dropped to his side. That stung. Fucking _Paul_.

“That's not it.” He said, folding his arms. Beneath the preening and the cockiness, Richard had a chasm where his self esteem should have been. “What did Paul say, anyway? He's already read me the fucking riot act because of whatever conversation you two had.”

“He didn't say anything bad about you, just that if we argue it's not as easy for you to just run away like you usually do. Him saying that just made me realise that it really is a last man on Earth situation.” He shrugged, sitting back and looking up at the sky, much clearer now without all the light pollution from the city. He glanced at Till from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean, read you the riot act, anyway?”

“Oh, the usual. Pretty sure the implication was that if I did anything to hurt you, he'd chop me up into tiny pieces and throw me into the sea. Not in so many words, of course.”

The corners of Richard's mouth quirked involuntarily and he snorted slightly.

“Aww. That's actually really sweet, in a Paul kind of way.”

“Well. The fact that I'm willing to risk it should tell you something about what my motivations are.” Till leaned back then, slouching until he was at eye level with Richard and fixing him with a stare, almost daring him to look at him. “Because you know he'll go through with it, too.”

Richard hummed thoughtfully.

“Let's just... see what happens, yeah?” He said, finally turning his gaze to meet Till's.

“Alright.” He nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. Shifting down in his seat, Richard shuffled closer and planted his head on his shoulder. The other man's chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle, sliding his arm out and wrapping it around Richard's shoulder. “Just promise me you're not going to get in that kind of state again.” He asked, turning his head and nuzzling his face into his hair.“When I walked into that room, I didn't know what to think.”

“I won't.” Richard agreed, fumbling around for his cigarettes. “Not that I've got a choice. That was the last of my stash, anyway.”

“Are you going to be alright?” He asked cautiously, not really sure with what kind of regularity he'd been using.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “Might feel a bit shitty for a few days but it's nothing I can't handle. Wouldn't be the first time.”

“Hm.” Till huffed. It wasn't that he was against drugs by any stretch of the imagination, he'd done more than enough himself over the years, but he had the discipline to know when to stop. Much like with most aspects of his life, Richard was the king of excess.

“Don't make that noise.” Richard grumbled.

“What noise?” He feigned ignorance.

“That fucking noise you make when you disapprove of something. Usually something I've done.” He complained, nudging Till's side playfully with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He shot an accusatory look upwards before lighting it.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You fucking do. Stop it.” He courteously blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, sending it in the opposite direction of Till's face. “I can handle it.”

“I'm not saying you can't – just that you can tell me if you need anything.” He gestured towards the cigarette Richard was holding. “Best make the most of that, 'cause you're not smoking in my room.”

“And what makes you think I'm staying in your room?” He asked with an eyebrow raised. “That is a fucking bold assumption there, Lindemann.”

“I- I mean-” Till suddenly found himself stumbling, having only minutes ago agreeing to take things slowly, and really not wanting to fuck anything up – especially not this early on. “Only if you want to, obviously.”

Richard cackled, quite proud of himself for rattling the usually unshakeable Till.

“Of course I do, you fucking idiot.” He grinned, finally feeling more relaxed than he had done in days. A small part of his brain was still telling him that getting into this again was a _fucking terrible_ idea, but a much larger part was undeniably still completely smitten and entirely unwilling to let go of the idea that _maybe_ this time would be different and _maybe_ , given the situation the world was currently in, it was wise to snatch pieces of joy where they could be found, even if it led to pain later on down the line.

He felt a kiss pressed against the top of his head, closed his eyes and smiled.


	12. Bloodflood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has a nightmare, but things get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a smut chapter. idk what happened. I can write things that aren't terrible things happening to people sometimes.

_Richard twisted the crowbar in his palms, knuckles white and his boots scuffing against the layer of dust that had formed on the concrete floor._

Why are we here? Why did we even come here? _Was the thought that rattled around in his head because he truly couldn't remember. One minute they were in the kitchen and the next minute here, in some kind of warehouse with a labyrinth of shelves that stretched up to the roof._

Supplies. That has to be it, right?

_Something crashed to the floor, the noise echoing off the walls in a way that made it difficult to discern where it was coming from. He stepped forward cautiously, a metallic scraping sound continuing after the initial, ear-splitting sound._

I haven't got a gun. Why the fuck didn't I bring a gun?

_All of a sudden it was too warm and he could feel sweat beading across the back of his neck and slithering underneath his collar, between his shoulder blades and making his t-shirt cling unpleasantly to his back. The confusing thing was that despite the heat, he was shivering, the worst kind of fever. He took another step forwards and his vision vibrated, the edges of the shelves shuddering and swaying in the corner of his eye._

“Till?” _He called out this time because he wouldn't be here alone.. would he? The crowbar slipped from his hands and he leaned over, swaying to reach it but never quite managing to get his fingers down far enough to retrieve it. The sudden change of position brought dizziness, nausea. His feet felt rooted to the spot as he continued to struggle and strain to reach the crowbar, as though an invisible force was persistently holding it just out of his reach._

What the fuck is happening to me? _He asked nobody, before yelling again._ “Till! I.. Something's wrong!”

Is this it? _He wondered._ Is this how it starts? God, don't let this be the way it starts.

_He continued to lean, stretching as far as he could when he heard slow, deliberate footsteps moving towards him._

“Till?” _He asked cautiously, slowly turning his head to look. A low, groaning sound came in place of a reply. Richard swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. He couldn't make himself turn his head far enough to look up, invisible hands fastened vice-like to the sides of his skull and a voice in his head telling him not to look._ “Please.” _He begged._ “Please say something.”

_The last thing he saw was a distorted face rushing towards him with blank, dead eyes and broken, rotted teeth that once might have been a face he recognised._

* * *

Of all the sounds Till enjoyed being woken up by, bloodcurdling screams of terror were not very high on the list. He wasn't much a fan of being booted by flailing limbs either, but he'd have to let it go considering the man he thought was peacefully sleeping beside him until a moment ago was doing a pretty perfect impression of someone who was being murdered.

“Reesh.” He urged sleepily, shaking his shoulder and frowning at the wetness that met his fingers when they made contact with Richard's t-shirt. “Come on, now. Wake up.” He asked more demandingly with a more determined shake.

There was a sudden, gasping intake of breath and Richard's eyes snapped open, darting around the room to make sure he really was at home. Frowning, his head sank back into the pillow as he tried to get his breathing and pounding heart back under control. A hand rubbed along his side and rough lips brushed against the back of his neck.

“Are you back with me?” Till asked.

Richard grimaced with embarrassment and nodded slightly. Nightmares were one thing but waking someone else up with it was just mortifying.

“Mhm.” He affirmed, closing his eyes and nuzzling his face into the pillow to hide his discomfort. “M'sorry.” He mumbled roughly.

“Don't be,” Till said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, and got a slight head shake in response. He tugged at the shirt that was clinging to Richard's back. “You might want to get rid of this. It's soaked.”

Wordlessly, Richard sat up, still avoiding the concerned and sympathetic look he just _knew_ was on Till's face and pulled the shirt over his head before tossing it onto the floor. The bite from the breeze through the open window was immediate, and he swiftly slid back down beneath the blankets, letting himself be pulled against Till's bare chest, one arm winding around his waist. It had been a long time but that kind of closeness, as it turned out, was much too easy to slip back into. He'd known all along of course, but he'd gotten ever so good at pretending he'd forgotten. His eyes closed and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as affectionate kisses pressed haphazardly from the back of his head to where his neck met his shoulder.

“I have missed this, you know?” Till murmured. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd stared holes through Richard's door on the way to his own room, his hand millimetres away from knocking, maybe even begging for another chance. He supposed it was a credit to his will power that he'd never done it, but now with things the way they were he wished he had. If he thought too much about the wasted time it would make his teeth grind.

There was a beat of silence, and for a moment Till thought Richard had fallen asleep.

“Me too.” He agreed, though it almost sounded like it pained him to admit it. Like he almost wished he hadn't. He rolled over silently, turning in his grip until their chests met. Till took in a breath to speak but before he had the chance there were firm and insistent lips on his and the words caught in his throat. Richard's leg curled around his thigh and instinctively Till's hands came to rest on the small of his back, urging him closer.

“What happened to taking it slowly?” He asked, pulling back just far enough to take a breath and speak, his forehead nudging against Richard's.

“Are you complaining?” He said breathlessly, nipping at his lower lip and rolling his hips just enough to make it abundantly clear that he _definitely_ wanted this. “Because we could stop..”

“Now, I never said that.” Till smirked, one hand curling around Richard's jaw and pulling him into a deep eager kiss, the other sliding into his boxers and grabbing his ass, pinning him in place and grinding up against him purposefully. A huff of air rushed out of Richard's nose and a muffled groan resounded in his chest, short fingernails digging into the expanse of Till's back. His stomach almost ached with need, a rush of endorphins flooding his system like the first, sweet hit of a drug he swore he'd never return to.

In one fluid motion, Till had Richard on his back and had settled himself comfortably between his legs, his own instinctively wrapping around his waist. Till tugged at his hair, exposing his neck in order to assault his throat, all teeth and tongue. It wasn't predictable – it was never that – but it was comfortable, there was no guesswork involved to find the place that made him squirm, hips arching up off the mattress to try and find some kind of friction. Tormentingly, Till dug his knees into the mattress and lifted his hips just out of reach, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I can almost _hear_ you grinning, you fucker.” Richard grumbled, and Till snorted slightly against the side of his neck, one arm pressed into the pillow above Richard's head to support his weight. His free hand slid along his hipbone and ghosted over his cock, fingertips dragging over the thin fabric of his boxers. Richard shuddered, bottom lip clamped between his teeth to stifle a desperate sound.

“Are you gonna stop complaining?” Till asked roughly against his earlobe, tugging it between his teeth while Richard bucked upwards to find the hand that had already pulled away.

“ _Fine_.” Richard agreed, but with too much of a hint of defiance in his voice for Till's liking. All at once, he started pulling away until he was kneeling between Richard's legs and the cold was starting to bite again. “No, wait!” He laughed, he sat up, reaching for Till's arm, trying to tug him back towards him. “Please. I promise I'll stop complaining.”

Till looked him up and down, eyeing the prominent tenting in Richard's boxers and knowing full well that he was kidding himself if he had any capability to walk away at that point. Still, he played his part and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, fine. Lie back down.” He commanded, turning back around and leaning over to kiss Richard slowly while his fingers hooked around the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down his thighs and then easily lifting his legs to rid him of them completely, dropping them off the side of the bed. Deft fingers dragged upwards and wrapped around Richard's cock, Till finding his hand slick with pre-come with only a couple of slow strokes. “I guess you did miss me, huh?” He asked, more affectionate than mocking. Richard's head turned slightly and the colour in his cheeks was visible even in the half-dark of the bedroom.

“Shut up.” He smirked slightly, rocking his hips up to meet Till's hand, a loud whine escaping his lips when his thumb circled the head of his cock slowly. “If you're not careful..” He warned, already feeling much closer than he wanted to be.

“I'm always careful.” Till informed him, taking his hand away, leaving Richard's cock aching and untouched against his stomach. “Turn over for me.” He asked sweetly, hands resting on Richard's hips as he rolled onto his belly, pulling him up into a kneeling position, Richard's arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. He heard movement behind him but trusted Till enough to not need to look back. The bedside drawer closed and he heard the telltale sound of a bottle being uncapped. What he wasn't expecting was the sensation of teeth grazing the cheek of his ass, followed by a playful bite that made him jolt slightly.

“Hey.” He smirked over his shoulder and heard a low rumbling chuckle against his skin. Whatever thought he had to speak after that quickly escaped him when two wet fingers slid along his ass crack and rubbed firmly against his hole. His fists clenched into the pillow and he pushed back against them, legs parting a little further in a way that Till took as an invitation. His head dipped and he moaned loudly when one finger pressed into him, sliding back and forth slickly a few times before Till pressed in a second, twisting and scissoring until he found the spot that made Richard's knees buckle, having to keep a hand tightly gripped around his hip to keep him in place.

“Too much?” Till asked, and breathlessly Richard shook his head, rarely and momentarily incapable of speech, and eagerly pushed back against his hand to illustrate his point. With an affectionate look, Till leaned over and pressed a kiss to the small of Richard's back, letting him set the pace as he fucked himself on the two digits wantonly, painfully hard cock bobbing untouched between his legs. Just when the thrusts had become a little too erratic, Till pulled away causing Richard to moan loudly with the loss.

“Fuck..” He whined, having been brought to the brink a second time only for Till to pull it away from him. His hips reflexively sought out the mattress to find some relief but Till's held him fast and kept him wanting. “Please.” He said simply, arching when large hands slid along the length of his back.

“Please _what_?” Till asked, pretending to be oblivious. “Use your words, Scholle.”

“Fuck _off_.” He groaned, earning himself a firm tap on the ass as punishment.

“Try again.” Till advised, not eager to wait too long himself– but he wasn't about to tell Richard that.

“Fuck me. _Please_.” He urged, and considering he'd asked so politely, Till couldn't bring himself to turn him down any longer. The bedside drawer rattled again, closely followed by the sound of tearing paper and stretching latex. Till slathered his hand with lube and coated his cock generously, not daring to stroke more than a few times in case that brought a premature end to proceedings.

“Ready?” He asked, lining himself up and using the hand on Richard's hip to guide him towards the head of his cock.

“Mhm.” Richard nodded and braced himself, eyes screwing closed and a strangled noise catching in his throat when he forced himself to try and relax, allowing Till to push inside him with little resistance until he could feel his hips flush against his ass.

“Jesus, Reesh..” Till managed shakily, not daring to thrust into the tightness clenched around him for a moment or two, smoothing his hands up and down his ribs to try and get him to loosen up a little more. The question of just how long it had been since anyone had fucked Richard crossed Till's mind, but the swiftly following pang of jealousy made him push it aside as quickly as it came. The choice to move was made for him when Richard's hips started rocking back on him insistently, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as his arms tightened around the pillow, stifling his cries with the thick material. Till looked down, hair falling into his eyes and hands gripping Richard's hips hard enough to bruise as he pulled him back onto his cock, gradually increasing his pace until the sound of his hip smacking against his ass echoed around the room.

“Fuck, oh fuck...” Richard muttered incoherently, no longer pushing back and instead letting Till slam into him mercilessly, ripping a helpless cry from his throat each time he nudged up against his prostate. As pleasing as the sounds coming from behind him were, the desperate grunts and words of praise, it wasn't quite enough. He reached behind him and grasped Till's hand, squeezing slightly as he spoke breathlessly. “Babe... Stop a second.” The endearment fell out before he could stop it but Till didn't seem to mind, his hips slowing and catching his breath before he could reply.

“What's wrong?” He asked, concerned.

“No, nothing! Nothing's wrong, I just..” He frowned, slightly embarrassed. “I'd just like to be able to see you.”

Without needing to be told twice, Till withdrew with a soft grunt and crawled up towards the pillows, sitting back against the headboard and reaching over to tug at Richard's arm gently.

“Come here.” He asked, and after a moment Richard pulled himself up and slid onto Till's lap, knees either side of his thighs and greeted by a slow, hungry kiss and fingers tangling in the messy, damp spikes of his hair.

Richard lifted his hips and reached behind him, stroking Till once, twice, before slowly lowering himself onto his cock, groaning into his mouth when he bottomed out again, letting himself adjust once more before starting to ride him in earnest, palms flat against his chest. The man underneath him was more than happy to let him set the pace, using the extra concentration to let his hands roam, over Richard's thighs and stomach before finally finding his neglected cock, earning a keening noise of approval when Till matched the rhythm of his hips and licked his way into Richard's open mouth, swallowing the groans and curses that tumbled from his lips.

“Till..” Richard warned, his hips starting to stutter. Sensing the need to take over, Till grasped his hip with one hand, keeping him in place and thrusting into him as Richard almost crumpled on top of him, forehead dropping to his shoulder. He shuddered and squirmed, crying out brokenly as he came over Till's stomach. The sudden tension of Richard's muscles sent Till over the edge swiftly after, nails leaving scores in Richard's flesh as he groaned out his name.

A few long moments of silence followed, the room filled with quick breaths and moans caused by the rippling aftershocks that followed. Slowly, Richard sat up enough to nudge his forehead against Till's, a dazed grin on his face.

“Guess you really did miss me, huh?” He said softly, echoing the other man's earlier words and Till reached up and curled his fingers under his chin, kissing him lightly.

“More than you know.” He said, far more earnestly than Richard was expecting, making his breath catch in his throat a little. He looked down coyly and grinned. Till's hand started wandering again until it found Richard's injured one, lifting it from where it lay uselessly against his chest and pressing a kiss to his wrist, then the scarred palm before pressing it to the side of his face, leaning into it affectionately. Richard's gaze lowered and he swallowed thickly, unable to bring himself to even look. Everyone else more or less ignored his damaged hand, worked around it or more often than not, pretended it didn't exist. That, of course, only made him even more self-conscious of it, the ugly useless thing getting in the way. Till, on the other hand, made the effort, made him feel like every single inch of him was loved, that his handicap simply _didn't matter_ – when they were together, at least. Maybe that was why things never felt quite right with anybody else, he supposed, which only made trying to move on more difficult. “Hey,” Till said gently, coaxing him into looking back up. Glassy eyes met his and he smiled affectionately. “Don't get all soft on me now.”

“Shut up.” Richard chuckled slightly, sniffing and wiping his face on the back of his wrist. “Fucking dust. Do you ever polish in here?” He asked jokingly, and Till chuckled along with him. “Don't think that because this is happening..” He gestured between them both. “That I'm gonna start cleaning up after you.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” Till shook his head. “For a start, I've seen what you call ' _cleaning_ '” He said, with air-quotes for effect. Richard swatted at his fingers and laughed. “Look, as much as I hate to break this up, my knees are really starting to hurt-”

“Oh shit, I'm sorry,” Richard said with a slight chuckle, carefully extricating himself from Till's lap, gasping softly when his now softening cock slid out of him before he collapsed heavily onto the mattress with a sigh. He looked up at Till who was using what looked like _his_ t-shirt to wipe himself down ( _rude_ , he thought) and tugged at his arm, offering a wordless invitation to join him which he gladly accepted. “So,” He began, snaking his arms around Till as soon as he was close enough. “What was that about my cleaning?” He asked eyebrow raised.

“If you could call it that.” He hummed thoughtfully, “But at least you attempt it. Unlike Schneider.”

“That lazy fucker.” Richard tutted in agreement.

“Right? Exactly. Lucky for me, I didn't fall in love with him.” Till smiled dozily.

“Olli did, though. Poor bastard.” Richard shook his head in sympathy, not meaning to gloss over the declaration but awkwardly not knowing how to respond. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I think we got the better end of the deal. You're alright. When you want to be.” He grinned mischievously.

“I always _want_ to be.” Till protested. “I just sometimes fail somewhere between the want and the execution.” He frowned slightly, “I do want to try and be better, though. You deserve that.”

“Stop that,” Richard warned, absolutely ignoring the tightness that suddenly gripped his throat because _what the fuck was wrong with him?_. He really was getting soft in his old age.

“You _do_.” Till insisted. “I just.. I appreciate you letting me try, that's all. Telling me to fuck off would have been completely understandable.”

“Understandable, but unlikely,” Richard admitted, tilting his head towards the hand carding through his hair. “It's been so long now... I think I've been in love with you longer than I haven't.” He dipped his head and cleared his throat slightly. “I don't think I remember what it feels like to not be.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” Till asked warily.

“Both.” He answered honestly. “Because when things are good, it's fucking incredible.”

“But when it's bad?”

Richard thought about it for a long few moments, but no words he could come up with seemed to do it justice. He simply smiled sadly and shook his head. Till nodded in understanding, a slight guilty frown on his face.

“Can we just.. not talk about it right now?” Richard asked a little pleadingly.

“Sure.” Till agreed, and Richard, satisfied with the answer, shuffled closer and nuzzled his face into the crook of Till's neck. “We're not getting up then, no?” Till asked, looking up at the daylight streaming in through the window.

“You can fuck off.” Richard muttered, “Three hours. At _least_ three hours.”

“Fine.” Till sighed.

“Why, have you got somewhere better to be?”

“Nope.” He shook his head, taking in where he was at that moment in time and who he was with. He smiled slightly against the side of Richard's head. “I certainly don't.”


End file.
